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Topic: Halloween Nights: Aftermath (Read 3350 times)

So at the request, or more like reminder, from Echo, I've remembered that I have a continuation of my original story, Halloween Nights: Resurgence (Found here: http://forums.mangaraiders.com/index.php/topic,7737.0.html). If you haven't read it yet and want to, simply click the link and it'll take you there. That being said, it wouldn't make much sense of you started reading Aftermath before you read Resurgence as they're very closely connected. So, without further ado, here's Aftermath, Chapter 1!

Chapter 1: It’s Not Over, Not By a Longshot

Spoiler

Well, Halloween 2013 has come and gone. For those of you who don’t know, in the week leading up to Halloween, I was attacked by a werewolf, fought many mythical creatures to the death (to their death), met a pair of villainous vampires named Adam and Eve, made a new friend from an unintentional enemy (by the name of Markus), killed Eve, and now I’m the first ever Cyborg to work for the Guardian Hunters. Markus stepped down as the leader of the Guardian Hunters and Kitty is now the top commander of the Guardian Hunters. Oh, and they’re not called the Guardian Hunters anymore: they’re now called the “North Star Sentinels” or just “The Sentinels” for short.

It’s early in the month of November, meaning it’s time for many American families to prepare for their Thanksgiving feasts on the fourth Thursday of the month. That also means that the weather is cold, but being Minnesota, the weather is dark and windy, with no snow yet. Oh, and it’s early at night. But for me and my wife, Jenn, we were still keeping a sharp eye on the well-being of my fellow Minnesotans. After all, Adam was still on the loose, and no one really knows what he’s up to or what he’s planning. I’m tasked with finding, hunting, and eliminating Adam before he attempts to create a new world order or just killing off his opposition (like us and similar agencies), whichever comes first. But, even before I could do that, there was something I had to make sure of.

Oh, and by the way, my name’s Tom, and I have many nicknames and such. Most predominately, Takeo, an online gamer name that just kind of stuck (that means “Warrior” in Japanese and “Crystal Grandfather” in Khmer). I have a wife, Jenn, and before the events on the nights leading up to Halloween, I was an IT consultant. I used to drive a 2005 Toyota Corolla S and Jenn used to drive a 2004 Subaru WRX STi Impreza Applied D sedan, but upon becoming permanent members of The Sentinels, we were offered the chance to get any production car we wanted to be issued to us at no cost to us, since The Sentinels is funded by the government as a contractor. But, more on that later.

Upon becoming a permanent member of The Sentinels, my outfitting and equipment has changed drastically from my home/self defense methods I had before, never mind that I’m a technical cyborg with artificial cybernetic robotic lungs as the ones I was born with were destroyed in the events of those Halloween nights. My trusty XD45, which I lost in that fateful meeting with Adam and Eve (I’m never going to get used to saying that, has since been replaced by a pair of handguns, one of which is a revolver. My new handgun of choice is a Sig Sauer P220 Equinox with a threaded barrel for a suppressor kept in an inside-the-waistband holster. In comparison to my XD45, the ammo capacity is just over half, but that’s because my secondary is a hand-hurting Smith & Wesson 327 Performance Center short barrel 8-shot revolver in .357 Magnum in a special holster built into my undershirt. Though Jenn doesn’t like it for its immense recoil, I’m quite fond of it as a backup and secondary handgun. I also carry a tactical combat Tanto with a 550 paracord-wrapped handle with a monkey’s fist knot as a makeshift tassel on the end of the handle. In that monkey’s fist is a solid steel ball to use as a meteor hammer style counterweight. This blade is for those close-quarters scraps just in case I get into such a situation.

As for the rest of my outfit, if you saw me in a Saint Paul bus stop or walking down the street, you would not have guessed I was a “special agent” (remember, The Sentinels are a government-funded agency. Stay with me here) or some sort of civil protector. But, my outfitting is much more practical than I’ll lead you to believe. I wear 6” black tactical boots, with tactical cargo pants not tucked into the boots, a TDU shirt rapid assault shirt and a watch cap because this is Minnesota and it’s crazy cold up here in November. Over all of that is an ordinary-looking trench coat which is actually a knee-length tactical trench coat which Weyland was kind enough to assemble with Kevlar, also because Minnesota is a cold state. In a pocket, I keep a pair of tactical gloves which doubles as cold-weather gloves. And of course, there’s miscellaneous stuff like a government-approved badge in a holder on my belt, wallet, radio with a connection to HQ and phone, and other little stuff. Oh, and 73 cents in pocket change in two quarters, two dimes, and three pennies. I bought a cup of tea earlier.

But, I guess by now you’re probably wondering where the heck I’m at. Well, interestingly, or at least interesting to me, I’m at my parent’s house, which I haven’t been to for a while since getting married and moving out. Jenn had driven us there in her new 2013 BMW 335i xDrive. The reason is that because I’m well aware that Adam knows everything about me, there’s a strong chance that he’ll go after my parents and my brother. I came to make sure that doesn’t happen. In front of the house was a Saint Paul Police squad car, with the lights flashing, but no officer in sight. Jenn stops the car and nods at me. I put on my gloves, adjust my hat, and step out of the car. I walk up to the cop car with a tactical flashlight. Not a good sight. The passenger-side window was broken in, and in the passenger seat was a cop whose throat was slit, eyes open and looking towards the sky. He was already dead, but the blood was still fresh. The cut was clean, obviously a well-maintained blade. Jenn walks up behind me and sees the body and gives a look of disgust.

“This is bad.” She says. I get onto the radio.

“Takeo to HQ? Over.”

“We hear ya. You arrived at your parent’s house yet?”

“Yeah, and it doesn’t look good. From the looks of it, we’re going to need a mourning band, maybe two.”

“Wait, mourning band? As in, that black strap that police officers wear to mourn the death of a fellow officer?”

“Yeah.” There’s a short silence.

“I’ll contact Saint Paul PD. Just to let you know, this is beginning to be much worse than we originally anticipated. We’ll discuss it in the debrief when you get back. For now, make sure that your family is safe.”

“Roger.” I look back at Jenn. “Can you go in through the front door?”

“Yeah. You’ll go through the back door, I take it?”

“Yeah. Remember, check your corners, and don’t shoot me when I come in through the kitchen. The basement is last.”

“Quietly? Or should I go in expecting a fight, which means not being discreet?”

“Quick and quiet.”

“Okay. Keys?” I hand her an EZ Pick lock picking gun and tension wrench, since when I moved out, I gave up my keys to my parents. “Nice.”

“You most likely won’t need to use it. If you can’t get in, whisper it to me via radio. If all else fails, then we’ll do a tactical entry. Understood?”

“Okay.” Jenn jogs up to the front door of my parent’s house. I go to the back door, P220 and flashlight drawn. I thread on the suppressor, and because of the positioning of my door, I switch the handgun and flashlights with my P220 in my left hand. I check the door to the garage (my parents have an attached garage). It’s partially open. I slowly push the door into the garage. I climb the steps to the back door, and switch on the light to the garage. Aside from my dad’s truck, and some odds and ends, there’s nothing in there. Now the problematic part. The back door is heavy solid wood and makes a lot of noise when you open it, and on top of that, it opens outwards. If I’m going to do it, I’m going to have to move very slowly. But, I can breathr a sigh of relief. “The door is stuck. I can’t open it without a lot of force.” Jenn says to me via radio. I figured since both doors make a lot of noise, a tactical entry will suffice.

“Kick it open. Remember, be careful, and keep an eye out for another police officer.” I hear her kick the door open. I switch hands again with my handgun, and quickly whip open the door. I walk into my kitchen. Not one thing was in its rightful place, either broken, overturned, or simply on the floor. Then again, that crappy $39 rice cooker is broken, so that helped me feel a little better. I exit the kitchen into the hallway, looking left and seeing Jenn making sure the living room is clear. She nods at me. I turn back left, and hit the first room, which is my brother’s old room on the right. I open the door. The room was torn apart. I check the closet. All clear. I come back out of the room, as Jenn pass me in the hallway. Then she turns left at the bathroom at the end of the hall which was a room where my mom stored her handmade Khmer dresses. I check the bathroom, which compared to the rest of the house was relatively untouched. Finally, I open the door to my parent’s room (to the right of the bathroom), and the scene couldn’t be more morbid. I ignore the scene and check the room to make sure there was nothing in there. Jenn comes into the room.

“The rest of the main floor of the house. Is clear...oh my goodness...what happened here?” On the bed were my parents, or technically, my parent’s bodies. The bed was still fresh, blood dripping off the bed. Judging from the look on my parents’ faces, they died painlessly and quickly. Eyes were still closed. I get back onto the radio, holding back my anger and sadness, voice choked slightly.

“Kitty?”

“Takeo? What’s wrong?” Kitty replies over the radio.

“Secure a pair of body bags and a cleanup team, and maybe another bag. I’ll keep you updated.”

“...Takeo...” I look at Jenn who was speechless of the sight before her, covering her mouth.

“I’ll check the basement. Can you stay and let the cleanup squad in when they get here?” She nods. I go back through the kitchen and open the basement door. Immediately there to greet me and to give me a heart attack is an orc from Entropy. He tries to aim a suppressed Glock handgun of some make and caliber directly me at my head. I immediately sidestep the shot and deflect the orc’s arm from getting a bead on me. The orc lands a punch on my face. I smack the orcs hand against the door frame and disarm it in the process. I kick the orc causing him to lose balance and fall backward, but the orc grabs my leg and pulls me down. We tumble down the stairs, with me losing my P220 in the process. Me and the orc tumble down the thirteen stairs to the thinly-carpeted concrete floor in my basement. I don’t know where the orc went, but thankfully I landed on the meat of my butt first, instead of my head like I would lead you to believe. I groan and look up and see the orc recovering, drawing a rather large dagger from a sheath. I sit up and quickly unbutton my coat and reach under my shirt for my revolver. I grab hold of the grip, but then I realized that the revolver was stuck on something. Might’ve been from the fall. The orc tries to stab me with a downwards thrust. I roll and give a piston kick to the orc’s knee, then reach back for my tanto. I’m about to draw it when I hear a deafening shot, characteristic of a shotgun. When I regain my senses, I see the orc laying on the floor, head riddled with small holes from the shot. I look around the room and see my younger brother near my old room before I moved out. He was covered in blood, but didn’t appear to be injured in any way. He had my dad’s Remington 870 Super Magnum 12-gauge 20” barrel shotgun shouldered with one hand, barrel still smoking. But, what was truly shocking was that on his opposite shoulder was an injured Saint Paul police officer, who was not only still alive, but conscious. I just stare with my mouth open, slightly shocked and relieved at seeing my brother alive. I sheath my tanto and get up to my feet, sore from tumbling down the stairs.

And the next post, as per usual, contains the rest of the chapter (thankfully, it's a short one).

“Bhong?” Bhong is a Khmer title to address an older brother or older sister or other older family member, or someone who’s older than you, but close enough not to be the age of your parents or similar. “Is that you? Is Mommy and Papa okay?” Mommy and Papa are what we called our parents. Call us what you want, but we did have a generally positive relationship with our parents. I rush to get underneath the other arm of the officer to help him.

“Good, to see you’re alright, Tony.” I say.

“You didn’t answer my question. How’re Mommy and Papa?” I begin to get misty eyed. Tony, my younger brother by seven years (making him 17, and me 24), looks at me, wanting an answer. “Dude, do you know something I don’t?” I look at him.

“I know who ordered this hit, but more on that later-”

“Hey, you two.” The officer between us says. “This is touching and all, but I need medical attention. I need answers too, but medical attention comes first, okay?”

“Understood, Officer...uh...what’s your name?” He just grunts as me and Tony help the Officer up the stairs. Jenn meets me, and upon seeing the injured officer, immediately springs into first responder mode. She starts checking him for wounds as I start seeing flashing red and blue lights outside. Immediately, I get on the radio back to the Sentinels HQ. “Kitty, we’ve got flashing lights. I thought we wanted to avoid getting local LE and emergency personnel involved with the kinds of things we as The Sentinels deal with.”

“Normally I would, Takeo, but we’ve got a dead Law Enforcement officer, and the top brass in Alaska ordered me to connect to a direct line to the radio dispatcher. Looks like we’ll be working together with Saint Paul PD on this one.” Now, it’s not that I don’t like cops. Quite the contrary, actually. My family has some friends who also happen to be Minnesota State Troopers. The reason I was reluctant to get them involved was due to the simple fact that I didn’t want to endanger other human lives and cause unnecessary loss of life. But, I guess it can’t be helped, because whether I like it or not, they’re involved now, and secrecy is going to be thrown out of the window, at least as far as local law enforcement is concerned. I’d rather keep this hush-hush from the media if I can.

We manage to get outside to see pandemonium on the very street I grew up on. There were several ambulances at several houses on the street, trying to evacuate other injured civilians in the area. Gotta leave it to Entropy for being consistently thorough in trying to eliminate all witnesses. There were also numerous squad cars in the area. A pair of officers was zipping up a body bag that contained the dead officer as several more officers and paramedics wheel a gurney to the officer I was helping. They help the officer onto the gurney, but several other officers point their duty Glocks at me. I immediately put my hands up.

“What’s going on here, officers?”

“You’re under arrest. We have to take your in for questioning.” An officer says as he walks behind me and pulls out handcuffs.

“Under arrest? I’m a special agent!”

“Show me your badge then.” I slowly reach my hand down at the bottom of my trenchcoat and pull it to the side, showing my North Star Sentinels shield badge. The badge has a nickel finish and has a cross taking up most of the shield, with the center being the state logo for Minnesota. The officer looks at it, confused, “What the heck are the ‘North Star Sentinels’?” Then, I hear a familiar voice.

“We’re kinda like the Men In Black.” I see Markus emerge from his armored Land Rover Discovery. Ever since he’s gone back to his real self, I’ve had a chance to really get to know him better. That, and he speaks perfect American English, without an accent, surprisingly. At first I thought it was weird, but because he’s a bit of a jack-of-all-trades field agent now for the Sentinels, I won’t complain. He’s a big help, and a darn good cook.

Anyways, the elf Lunar Squad was with him. Lunar may be a combat squad, but for some reason, they’re also highly skilled in forensics and cleanup. The more I work with all of them, the more I discover about my “coworkers”. They all flash their badges to get past the block and immediately go into my parents house. My brother was being tended to by a paramedic. I walk up to the wounded officer we helped. “Officer, what’s your name?”

“Manning. Barrett Manning.”

“I’ll visit you in the hospital.” He gives a strained grin as he’s loaded into an ambulance, the doors closing and the ambulance leaving. I turn to see Markus speaking with a Police Sergeant, trying to explain what exactly the Sentinels do. It’s proving harder than he thought. I walk up to them to listen in on the conversation.

“Sergeant, I explained it to you, we’re basically a government-contracted security agency tasked with protecting humans and ‘mythical creatures’ like myself from those who desire to exterminate the human race or start a large scale world war between humans and creatures like me.”

“Markus, was it? I find this all hard to believe. I mean, you say you’re a vampire, but my daughter read those awful Twilight books. They’re fiction, not real, and you need to get out of your delusions of being a vampire. They don’t exist.” Markus gives a loud sigh and facepalm. I look at the Police Sergeant.

“Sergeant. I’m Takeo.” I shake his hand. “It may seem far-fetched, but I’m going to prove it to you. Markus, are you ready?”

“Not this again. I guess it can’t be helped.”

“Sergeant, draw your utility knife.”

“Where are you going with this?” The Sergeant asks, drawing a folding knife from his duty belt and flicks it open.

“Now, I know this is going to sound crazy, but stab or cut Markus in your place of choice. And please, be reasonable.”

“I refuse.”

“Is it because of the paperwork involved?”

“Partially.” I give a sigh.

“Alright, fine. Resist the urge to fire upon me.”

“Huh?” The Police Sergeant says, slightly confused and bewildered.

“Oh, well this is going to suck.” Markus says. I quickly draw my Tanto overhand, and in one motion, slash Markus on the side of his neck, severing his Carotid artery, blood gushing from the wound. Markus puts his hand up to the wound to prevent the blood from splattering everywhere. The police sergeant immediately draws his duty weapon. I put my free hand up, signaling to not be alarmed, but like most people would do, he refused to comply. Then, Markus, after a grunt, speaks. “Relax, Sergeant, I’m perfectly fine.”

Much to the surprise of the sergeant, Markus was not only alive, but still standing and generally unfazed. Markus pulls his hand away from the wound as it regenerates and heals right before the sergeant, several other officers, and paramedics eyes. After several seconds, his neck was as good as new. Markus rotates his head around to stretch his neck, then Markus looks at me. “I hate doing that, just so you know.”

“Sorry.” I reply. “But I needed to do something dramatic.” We turn back to the sergeant. “Believe us now?”

“Takeo, Markus,” the Sergeant says, “I don’t know what to believe. What I just saw looked almost like magic.”

“Well, it’s not. And don’t worry, when I first joined the Sentinels, I didn’t know what to believe either. Welcome to the club, Sergeant. We’ll keep in touch, and everything I find and any information I come across, I’ll report to you and your commanders. Is that a deal?” I extend my hand. The sergeant reluctantly shakes my hand. “Oh, and please don’t replicate what you saw today, okay? Unlike my fellow agents, I’m actually human...mostly.”

“Right.” The sergeant says nervously and awkwardly. “Got it.” After an awkward handshake, we turn our separate ways. I turn and walk up to Tony and Jenn, who were talking.

“Tony, you okay?” Tony nods. “What happened in there?”

“Well,” Tony replies, “I was downstairs playing League of Legends when I heard someone walking upstairs. But I figured it was just Mommy or Papa. Well, that all changed when I heard silenced gunshots.”

“How could you tell?” Jenn asks.

“The bullets hit the floor and it had a very unique sound. I ran into your old room, Bhong, and grabbed Papa’s shotgun. I still had it in there because I had gone to the range that day. I loaded it up with five target shells, and I go out, and there was the cop standing right there. He told me to drop my gun, but before I could, one of those things broke through a basement window and shot at him. I grabbed the wounded officer and brought him back into the room and locked the door. But, it wasn’t really much better in there. More of those whatevers were trying to get to us. I held them back as best as I could, but then, they leave the windows, and go somewhere. Then I hear one break in through a window in the main basement area, and start heading up the stairs. After a couple minutes, I hear something tumble down the stairs. When I heard it was your voice, I peeked out of the room. You know the rest from there.”

“Dude...they’re...” I feel my eyes start to water. I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, flashing back to memories with my parents, and I sit down next to Tony on the ambulance. “We have a funeral to get ready for.” I look past my tears to my brother. His face didn’t register shock, or any emotion at all. He just turned, and stared off into space. I sniffle as I look up and see Luna standing before me, my P220 with the grip facing towards me in her hand. I grab it and holster it.

“Takeo...I’m sorry.” Luna says with a sorrowful tone in her voice. This is uncharacteristic of her normally bubbly personality. “It’s gotten a little too personal, hasn’t it?”

“Luna. It’s always been personal. Thus is the nature of an unseen war like this. But now, there’s even more of a driving force for me.” I stand up and stare at my parents’ house, flashing back to memories of growing up there. I put my right hand on the middle of my chest. I’ve gained a new steely resolve and a personal conviction. Then, I utter these words:

“Adam, I’m going to take you to my world, and in my world, you will die by my hands.”

TO BE CONTINUED

So, Chapter 2 will be coming soon, maybe as soon as tomorrow. Anyways, if you're a fan of Resurgence, then you'll probably like Aftermath as I've improved drastically in my writing between the two. So, Enjoy!

Yay Takeo! Read it and - *Sho---ck* and ow (Wait wait, maybe I'm mistaking the real you and the story XD )North Star Sentinels - classy touch Show's back on the road! Can't wait to read more (Amusing Markus was really honest about himself-straight out that he's a vampire haha!)

Well, getting back on track, here's the next chapter for Aftermath. From this point on, it's a work-in-progress. I'm writing chapter 3 right now, so you all get it fresh from this point forward. I do hope that you all enjoy this. Without further...BAH! Here's chapter 2 for Aftermath.

Chapter 2: Newcomer AND Crackshot? Yes!

Spoiler

“...and as we remember the parents, father and mother, of both Thomas and Tony...” I had just done a eulogy and I wasn’t really listening as the pastor was speaking at the funeral for our parents, which was being held at an indoor funeral home in the early afternoon. Between me, Jenn, and Tony, we had all decided to keep the funeral short and sweet with very few attendees and bury our parents. The attendees were few, but were surprisingly important. Luna was there. Luna kept a winter hat on over her ears and stood at the rear of the room to disguise her true nature. What surprised me, though, was a small group of Saint Paul Police officers in attendance, as well as the Chief of Police for Saint Paul, Thomas E. Smith, who was sitting in the same row of seats as myself, Jenn and Tony, in the front.

I was trying to remain as composed as I possibly could, but it proved easier said than done. I was doubled over in my seat, looking towards the floor, but unable to see it because the tears just wouldn’t stop. It’s one thing to lose your parents to natural causes; the ones you grew up with, obviously not perfect, but definitely did their best and succeeded in raising you. The problem is I couldn’t help but feel their murder was my fault. It had to have been my fault. If I didn’t take that other route home one week before Halloween, I probably wouldn’t have hit that lycan with my car, and none of this would’ve happened. But, to regret my decision to join the Sentinels, well, let’s just say that the word “regret” in regard to the Sentinels couldn’t be further from my mind. It’s not like I could just sit idly by and wait for Adam and the rest of Entropy and let whatever his schemes are to manifest themselves and put other people in the very same situation that I’m in.

I understood that even though my parents are dead, killing Adam wouldn’t bring them back. Nothing I do will bring them back. I also know that joining the Sentinels for my parents’ sake would also be something my parents wouldn’t want for me. No. I joined the Sentinels because I don’t want others to go through what I’m going through. I joined not for the benefits or the money, or even to feel better about myself even though I live by my convictions. I want to do my best with my new lease on life to make sure that humans and the “mythical creatures” can coexist with minimal conflict. Adam and Entropy want to ultimately control the human race in, I guess, would best be described as a dystopia. That, and well, Adam just straight pisses me off, and wants me dead, so I have some initiative to go after him. Unfortunately, my people-tracking skills without the use of the internet sucks more than a Dyson vacuum cleaner.

But here at the funeral, the pastor was giving his closing statements. I just sat and stared, unable to hear him, his voice muffled against the torrent of emotions that were flowing out of me. Jenn was on my shoulder, slightly more composed than I was. I turn to look at my brother, Tony. He just sat there, stoic, motionless and speechless, and occasional tear rolling down his face. We all weren’t dressed in what you would expect to wear at a funeral. The reason why is that in Khmer culture, you wear black and white, instead of just black, to mourn a loved one. I was wearing black jeans, as per usual, and a white Khmer shirt made of some sort of thick material with white buttons and buttoned all the way up, a short collar wrapping around my neck. I was still packing my P220 and carrying my Sentinels badge, but left my 327 back at our Sentinels dorm...well, more like a condo.

The pastor steps away from the pulpit and steps up to the three of us. We stand to our feet as the pastor, an old family friend who oddly, I couldn’t remember the name of, embraced me tightly, and pats my arm. “Thomas. I don’t really know everything that happened, but continue living a life that would make your parents proud, okay?” I sniff.

“Alright. And thank you pastor.”

“You’re welcome. We’ll be leaving soon to the cemetery to bury your parents. I’ll see you there. Be blessed.” The pastor walks away. I put my arm around Jenn, who was quietly sobbing. Tony was not far behind us. Police Chief Smith walks up to us, a business card in hand.

“Agent...uh...”

“Please, just call me Tom, Chief Thomas Smith. Or...I guess Takeo, since we could be both called Tom.”

“Tom. I won’t have to introduce myself as you already know. I know this is a hard time for you. I wouldn’t do this normally, but since you work for an agency that is officially classified as law enforcement, I want to keep in contact with you and work in tandem with you in this case that killed your parents and left one of my officers dead. Are you willing to work with Saint Paul PD?” I grab the business card and look at it. It had the Saint Paul PD logo, his name, and a number I could reach him at. I check the back of the card, and see a handwritten number on it. “That would be my cellphone.” I look up at the Chief.

“Chief.” I say, clearing my throat. “I’ll keep in contact with you.” I extend my hand. He grabs and shakes it. “I hope that we can work together without incident. I’ll contact you later.”

“Thanks, Chief.” The chief walks away. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and sniff hard to clear my sinuses as best I can. Jenn steps back slightly and does the same. I look at Luna and motion for her. She struts up to us. I look between Jenn, Tony, and Luna. “Let’s head over to the cemetery. The pastor’s waiting for us. That’s when we’ll say our...last goodbyes.” With that, we walk as a single unit of four individuals to our respective cars, me and Tony being passengers in Jenn’s 335i with Luna getting into her own car, a 2006 Honda S2000 AP2 in silver. Jenn starts the 335i, puts it into gear, and leads the way to the local cemetery where we planned to bury our parents.

***

I almost forgot about the weather. Being November, the weather was downright freezing, and the winds cuts through you faster than a hot knife through warm butter. At least the sky was clear and there wasn’t any precipitation, otherwise this burial would suck a lot more. I’m wearing my tactical trenchcoat over my original black and white outfit I wore at the funeral service. The pastor is there with a cemetery technician. The graves were next to each other, and the caskets were already lowered into their six foot graves. We were all standing around the two parallel graves. Luna drops a bouquet of flowers into each grave, as Jenn and Tony each drop several roses each into the graves. Being the oldest son, I was the last to go by choice. I reach into my pockets and pull out two miniaturized Cambodian flags, and toss them into the graves. I watch them as they slowly float down and land on top of both caskets. I look at Jenn and Tony, and they give me a look of agreement. I look back at the pastor and cemetery technician. “We’re done. You can fill the graves. Be blessed, pastor.”

We turn away and make our way to the waiting parked cars. But that stupid wind is making it difficult to move. It’s just too cold. Once we reach the cars, I get the three of them to gather with me to discuss the plan for the next few minutes. “What next, Thomas?” Jenn asks.

“Jennifer. Can you take Tony and Luna back to HQ? I think Tony is inkling to get some payback on Adam, right?”

“Dude,” my brother replies, his voice a bit more lively. “you have no idea.”

“And Luna,” I turn towards Luna. “Can I borrow your car?”

“Sure. You need anything else?” She’s surprisingly eager.

“Yeah. Tony is going to be the newest member of the North Star Sentinels. He’ll be my primary spotter for missions. Let Kitty know too about his ‘acquisition.’ I’ll put a good word for him when I get back.”

“‘Kay.” Luna replies. She throws me her keys to me. I failed to catch them, so they land on the ground. I was never good at catching things...or sports in general, for that matter.

“Where are you going to go?” Jenn asks.

“I’m going to pay a visit to Officer Barrett Manning in the hospital. See you later, okay?” We lean in for a quick kiss.

“Say hi to the officer for me.” Jenn says.

She walks off to her 335 and starts the engine. I look over to Luna’s S2000 and start walking to it. “Well, I’ve never driven an S2000 before. I wonder if it’s any good?”

***

I arrive at Regions Hospital in Saint Paul. I pull into the parking garage and park Luna’s S2000. I step out, huge smile on my face.

“It’s no wonder Honda’s VTEC engines have such a strong following. That S2000 was a BLAST to drive!” I lock the car, get into an elevator, and walk up to the front desk of the hospital.

“Sorry, he’s currently not taking public visitors. Right now, the only ones who can see him is his family and other law enforcement-” I flash my badge. “...Oh... South campus, fourth floor, room 406.”

“Thanks.” I walk towards the south campus, when the hospital gift shop catches my eye. I walk in and buy a simple round balloon that says “Get Well Soon!” I get into the elevator and ride uninterrupted to the fourth floor. I walk to the main desk, immediately getting the attention of the nurse working there. “Here to see Officer Manning?” I say as I flash my badge.

“Right there.” She says, pointing in the general direction of his room. I turn and walk down a short corridor. I arrive to the room, and knock on the door. I hear a woman’s voice.

“Who is it?” She asks.

“I guess you could say I’m a friend. Am I intruding?” I reply. The door opens, and I’m greeted by a woman, and a young boy. I look over her shoulder to see a very conscious and coherent Barrett Manning, who also sees me.

“It’s alright, baby, you can let him in.” The woman opens the door to let me in. “This gentleman and his brother saved my life. Tom, right?”

“Yeah. How are you, Officer Manning?”

“No need to call me ‘officer’. Just call ‘Barrett’ or ‘Bear’ for short. This is my wife, Allison, and my son David.” Looking at David, he’s old enough to know about the dangerous work that his father does, but is too young to be a pre-teen. He walks up to me, and extends his hand for a handshake.

“Thanks for saving my dad.” I shake his hand. Afterward, I tie the balloon in a loose knot on the nightstand next to the bed. I take a seat next to the bed.

“How ya feeling, Officer...err, Barrett?” I ask

“Much better now. Doc’s got me all patched up, but if it weren’t for your brother’s quick thinking and you arriving when you did, I probably wouldn’t be here right now...but my partner...”

“What’s his name?” Barrett has a somber look on his face.

“Jerry Enfield.” There’s an awkward silence. But, surprisingly, Barrett breaks it, almost startling me. “I heard from some of my fellow officers that you had a talk with the Chief.”

“Yeah, he talked with me about working together to find the one who’s responsible for all this...but...” I look over to Barrett’s wife and son.

“Baby, can you and David leave us alone for a bit?” Allison guides David out of the room and closes the door. “Alright, Tom, what is this about?”

“I didn’t want to scare them, or specifically, young David. Th-Thing is, you’re considered a loose end, especially since you’re not a part of the, uh, agency I work for, called the North Star Sentinels. You said you w-w-wanted answers, well, here you go. That creature you saw in the basement of my parents’ house was an orc. You know, the mythical creature. He’s essentially the common foot soldier of a group called Ent-...Entr-...ugh....Entropy. Sorry, can’t talk. Like the name suggests, they ultimately want to create chaos, eradicate the human race, and keep earth for themselves. We, as the Sentinels, are just one group of many, and together, w-we help guard the human race.” Barrett just stares at me, mouth slightly open. “Did I lose you?”

“No, you’ve still got me...but, it just all seems too...I don’t know, ‘fantasy’?”

“Trust me, I didn’t believe it at first either. Unfortunately, I also almost died from it all.” I stand up, open my jacket, and lift up my shirt, showing Barrett my scars and cyan-colored lines covering the entirety of my torso. “I-I-I have cybernetic l-lungs in my chest to help supplement my natural ones. I guess that would classify me as a ‘cyborg’.”

“Wow, now that’s even harder to believe.”

“Moving on. Entropy was led by three individuals, a werewolf whose name I can’t remember, and a vampire couple named Adam and Eve. The werewolf I accidentally hit with my car, and I was responsible for Eve’s death, but I couldn’t do it without a lot of help and almost sacrificing myself in the process. Well, since Adam is alive, he’s also very pissed that we killed his woman. So, now he’s really got nothing to lose; rule the world or die trying. I intend to oblige him with the latter. Originally, I didn’t want Saint Paul PD involved, because I was worried about reckless endangerment, but after all this, I don’t think that convincing Saint Paul PD to step down is going to get me anywhere. After all, you’re involved now too, and I kinda feel like it’s my fault.” Barrett sits up slightly, and taps my shoulder.

“You did what you had to do, Tom. I probably would’ve done the same in your shoes. And you’re right about trying to convince Saint Paul PD to step down. If what you say is true, we can’t step down. It’s our, as well as the State Troopers, duty to protect the people of Saint Paul and Minnesota. And the Sentinels...tell me about them.”

“Well, you already know the basics. O-Our jurisdiction is the entire state. There’s hundreds, possibly thousands of similar agencies located all over the world, all with the same mission: protect humankind, and promote coexistence between humans and mythical creatures.”

“Like the Men in Black?”

“Kind of. The headquarters and command center is up in Alaska somewhere, and that’s where the top brass is located. As for the command structure, it’s similar to LE. The first-in-command is a b-b-bakeneko, or cat-spirit, by the name of Kitty. Granted, explaining that I get my orders from a cat is generally grounds for a trip to the m-mental hospital, but stay with me here. Since she’s at the top, she’s also got different commanders in different g-groups under her command, me being one of them.”

“What do you do, exactly?”

“I’m a long-range specialist and overwatch commander. Basically, from the position I usually chose, it give me a good view of the mission area without being close enough to get shot and/or shot at. I use a sniper rifle and a high-powered scope.”

“Sniper or marksman, huh? What else do you do?”

“That’s mainly it, I watch, support, and command. I’m a crack shot, but a horrible hand-to-hand fighter, slow runner, and lack sufficient stamina for prolonged physical activity. My only redeeming trait, if you could call it that, is my patience, and my Asian craftiness and resourcefulness. ‘Work smarter, not harder’ and all that. This is a lot to take in, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah. Wasn’t it for you?”

“Bear, you have no idea.” We both share a short chuckle. “So, when the doctor say you’d be ready for action again?”

“Ha! Not anytime soon, that’s for sure. I’ve been hearing through the grapevine that I might be moved to a desk job...unless...”

“Unless what?”

“Tom, I owe you one. Do you think that I could be a liaison between the Sentinels and Saint Paul PD? At least, until I get better.” I lean back to think about it.

“Let me check with Kitty about it. You think you can call me in a few hours?”

“So long as I’m not in the middle of something.”

“Of course.” I open the drawer, and grab a pen from my pocket. I jot down my name and cell phone number, and set it on the nightstand next to the balloon I got him. “Call me in a few hours. I’d call you, but I’m not all that great at memorizing phone numbers, especially from hospitals. If I don’t pick up right away, call me again in ten minutes.”

“Alright.”

“Well, I gotta get going. Gotta go help get m-my brother settled in and whatnot as he’s the newest member of the Sentinels. See ya, Barrett. Have a nice day.”

“See you later.” I leave the room and enter the elevator to leave Regions. Now, all that’s left is to get my brother squared away with his equipment and his new home.

***

I had to drive around various types of construction vehicles and equipment upon return to Sentinels HQ. See, the thing is, after Entropy attacked compound, most members of the Sentinels decided that a remodel was in order, especially since a lot of the buildings were being unused. So, we decided as an agency to hire some construction contractors to repurpose the unused buildings into some fairly nice condos for the members of the Sentinels. But, until it’s done, we’re all still living in the main building, which had a lot of that 19th century style or something, I’m not all that great at spotting architecture. Victorian maybe?

Anyways, I find myself in the main foyer with the grand staircase. Markus was in a bit of a hurry, running down the stairs, some papers in hand that he was reading. “Hey Markus, what’s the hurry?”

“Your brother. I gotta go and test his hand-to-hand combat skills.” I’m still not used to his lack of accent now. “Speaking of which, does he have anything like your Tattoo Cross ring? Otherwise, it’ll be over pretty quick, and you’d be short a man, if you get what I mean.”

“Nope, he’s clean, except for an inconspicuous tongue piercing. Just don’t underestimate him...ever. He may look like a skater, but he’s tough. Actually, will Kitty be there?”

“I’ll come with. I gotta see this.” I follow Markus towards the gym which houses a newly-finished low-level MMA-style circle fight cage. Before we reach it, however, we’re cut off by Luna. “Hey, Takeo. Right on time. Your brother is tearing up the range.” We follow Luna into the indoor range. Tony and Weyland were in the range with an AR-style rifle, while Kitty was perched on the window in cat form in the staging area watching my brother. I walk up next to her with Luna and Markus flanking me. “Nyan!”

“Hello, Takeo.” Kitty glares at the target with intensity. “You promised a good word for this guy. I’m listening.”

“Sometimes.” I just stood there, mouth hanging open, no believing that Kitty just called me a loose cannon.

“Alright, whatever. Yes, he can a loose cannon at times. But-”

“He’s quite the crackshot. I mean, not as good as you, but still really good.” I watch my brother put shots on target at 50 yards in a hole no bigger than a softball.

“Pretty good given that he hates that rifle and rifles of that style.” Kitty looks at me, surprised. “Both me and my b-brother share a hatred for classic AR-style rifles, like M16’s and M4’s. I went one way and ended up falling in love with AK-style rifles, while he went the other way and prefers either bullpup or updated modern platforms, like the SCAR family of rifles.”

“You’re both strange individuals.”

“Yeah, of course. But I’m sure that Weyland had no idea when picking the rifle to test him with in the first place. So, hand-to-hand fighting test after this?”

“Yup. You made it back in time to see it. Looks like they’re leaving now.” Tony and Weyland exit the range into the staging area. I could hear Tony’s voice as he’s walking towards us.

“...Well, I don’t like AR-style rifles. If you say you can get any weapon I want, then I’ll take a SCAR Heavy, you should know, the Mk. 17, not the Mk. 16 SCAR-Light. I want the extra punch. And make sure it’s tan. And a Five-Seven. Also tan please.” Weyland nods to my brother, then walks past me and makes gives a comment.

“Takeo, you and your brother have such strange taste in weapons.”

“We’re Asian, it runs in our blood.” I reply.

“Tony, I can get you what you want, mate. It just might be a little longer. Have to order direct from Belgium.”

“How long?” Tony asks.

“Half a day, maybe more or less depending on courier speed. But, the longer I muck around, the longer you’ll have to wait. Laters.” Weyland disappears around the corner, apparently slightly irate. But, we decided to move right along; onto the gym.

***

Markus is standing in the fight ring, shirtless with kickboxing pants on and shoes, with MMA gloves on. I’m sitting on a gym bench with Kitty next to me. Luna had left us as she had been called in by the Lunar Squad for something. Tony was still getting ready, and Jenn had walked in, eager to see the fight.

“You know,” Jenn states. “I’ve never actually seen Tony fight. I think it’ll be interesting to see.” Jenn sits down next to Kitty. Kitty rubs against Jenn, and Jenn starts petting her.

“Takeo, you’re his brother.” Kitty says. “What can you attest to relative to his fighting ability?”

“Well,” I stop to think for a bit. “I’m biased, because being his older brother, he’s pretty a-a-agile, but lacks power in strikes. Actually, his striking sucks. But, we’ll see. To be honest, we’ve thrown fists at each other before, but not like all-out. I’m just as curious as y-you are.” Tony walks in with a t-shirt, shorts and taped up hands. This is all well and good, except it won’t necessarily be a true test of Tony’s abilities, but I don’t feel like explaining why right now.

Tony steps into the ring and closes the door behind him. We all watch silently as Tony takes a pretty ordinary orthodox-style fighting stance. Markus assumes the same stance, and says something. “Know the rules?”

“Okay.” Tony adjusts his mouth guard. Markus does the same, but it turned out to be a ruse on Tony’s part. Tony immediately charges, jumps up, and delivers a knee right on Marku’s solar plexus. Markus grunts, then Tony hits an elbow strike on Markus’ side of his head, but then comes back Pradal Serey style and using the same elbow opposites Markus in the opposite direction. Tony grab’s Markus’ head, and pulls it down into a series of hard knee strikes, with Markus almost unable to make a coherent counter-attack. I take that back, Markus pushes Tony back against the cage wall, but is replied with an elbow from Tony to the back of his neck, followed by several more, and another knee to the sternum. Markus punches Tony in the side. Tony grunts, and attempts to lock in a guillotine choke. Markus, unable to push free, instead opts for a bridging suplex, lifting Tony in the air, flipping him over, and bridging into a suplex. Markus flips backwards and attempts to mount for a ground fight, but Tony twists out of the way with Markus in mid-flip, meaning that Markus’ head was still in a headlock. There’s a loud crack at Markus’ neck breaking followed by a collective “Ooh” and cringe by the rest of us. Markus flops to the ground and lays motionless for a few seconds, then we hear a loud groan from Markus. He reaches up with his left hand and cracks his neck back into alignment.

“Timeout!” Markus yells. Tony gets back to his feet and brushes himself off, and helps Markus up, who was still holding his neck. Markus looks at us, or specifically, Kitty. “Do I have to go on? Tony’s a heck of alot better than Tom is at fighting. And hurts a heck of alot more if there’s no anti-vampiric qualities about him.”

“Hey, man!” I say to Markus. “I can’t help that my only gift is good aim. I can’t fight worth crap!”

“Kitty, I have to hold back, otherwise it won’t be fair.” Markus says, unstrapping his gloves. I walk to a nearby empty bench. I take off my trenchcoat, and unholster my P220 and 327, as well as detaching my Tanto. I keep all the rest of my field clothes on, unbutton my sleeves, and wrap my hands with tape. Markus walks up to me. “What exactly are you doing? Why not just use the gloves?”

“Because I’m not good at throwing punches, therefore, I don’t throw any. My brother and me, we have similar fighting styles. Except there’s one major difference.”

“...Which is...?”

“You’ll see.” I say, pointing at Markus. Aside from the hand tape, and sans trench coat and weapons, I’m still wearing everything I would wear normally into the field. I climb into the cage.

“You’re going to fight in that?” Jenn asks.

“How can you perform well in the field if you don’t train with the same equipment you would use in the field?”

“True.” I reach and slam the cage door shut. “Okay dude. All that pent up aggression, let it rip.”

Tony wastes no time. He tries the same tactics he uses on Markus. I sidestep out of the way, almost losing my balance. Without missing a beat, he twists around and attempts to elbow me, but the extreme angle causes him to just brush past my face. Basically, he missed. I lunge forward and knee him in the gut then drive my elbow into his kidneys. Tony stumbles a bit, but recovers when I charge him and put him in a guillotine headlock. He tries to push against me, but my 220 lb frame pushes him all the way to the cage wall, near the door. He manages to pull free. I lunge forward with a knee strike. He dodges and my knee slams into the cage door, bending it and nearly breaking the latch.

One thing I may or may not have mentioned is that I seriously lack upper-body strength, but I make up for it by being able to literally lift half a ton with my legs, and that’s no exaggeration. Because of this, I have some very hard hitting stomps and knees, and my otherwise weak musician’s hands are only used for grasping and open-hand strikes instead of punching, with elbows being my primary high attack. In short, my lower body is where all my strength truly lies.

Tony, taking advantage of the situation, delivers a right cross right to the left side of my face. He doesn’t hit hard enough to hurt, but it’s enough to throw me off. It’s followed by a high elbow to the back of the head. I drop to one knee. He punches me again with his left hand on the right side of my face, then tries to knee me in the face, but I greet his knee with my elbow on the side of it, while simultaneously grabbing onto his leg. He’s screwed now.

See, there’s one other thing I didn’t mention. Because our dad was also a martial artist in his day, and because of some of US Army training does include it, I’m highly skilled in joint locks and headlocks, and not the sporty variety either; the illegal, banned, and downright deadly locks that’s reserved mainly for self defense and combat.

Tony tries to push free from my grasp of his leg, but I drive my shoulder into his sternum while performing a sweep on his free leg, knocking him down. I immediately wrap my legs around the leg I have a hold of and lock in a kneebar. “Tap or it breaks!”

“ENOUGH!” I hear Kitty yell. “I understand that you’re brothers, but I can’t have you breaking bones, Takeo!” I let go of my brother’s leg, and help him up.

“Dude, you’re knee’s going to be a little sore for a while. Sorry about that.” I tap him on the shoulder. “But, remember this: because I’m you’re older brother, you’ll never beat me in a fight. Ever. Even if you’re the better fighter. Perks of being the older brother.” Jenn comes up with scissors and cuts off my hand tape. I turn to Kitty “So, what’s the verdict on my brother. Is he greenlit to be a field operative of The Sentinels?”

Kitty scratches her ear with her hind leg. “Mmm...yes. I mean, if you’re recommending him, and he’s proven himself, I don’t see why not. You can show him his new room, same floor as yours. And be ready. Tomorrow night will be the briefing for his first mission. He’ll be going with you and Jenn. We need to find out where Adam and Entropy are hiding.”

“Understood.” Kitty leaves us in the gym. I holster my P220 and 327, as well as attaching my tactical tanto back onto my belt, and carry my trenchcoat in my arm. Tony grabs his street clothes, and limps (slightly) towards the door.

“So, where’s my new room?”

***

We’re standing in the entryway of Tony’s new home. It’s very nice. It’s essentially a small loft apartment. Opposite the door is a large window looking out into one of the campus’ common courtyards, with remote-controlled blinds already installed. Near the window was the apartment’s only room, making this a studio loft. Tony enters, drops his duffel bag, and looks around. We follow. After the short hallway, directly next to the opening, is a kitchenette, and beside that next to the stairs leading up, is the door leading to the bathroom. The stairs lead up to an open loft with enough room for a bed and a single nightstand, and the ceiling is high enough that anyone shorter than seven feet can stand comfortably. The room itself is light green, and everything that was already in it appeared new. All it needs is furnishings and decoration.

“Okay, n-n-now this is pretty nice.”

“Dude, I get this entire room?” Tony asks. I couldn’t quite believe it either.

“Apparently so.” Jenn replies.

“Take good care of it, man. It’s not everyday you get something as nice as this to live in as part of your job.”

“This is awesome. When do I get to put stuff in it?”

“That’s a good question.”

”Right now if you want.” We hear Kitty’s voice. We look around and see her in the entryway. “There’s a laptop and your new phone on the countertop of the kitchenette. The laptop is pre installed with an application to where you can buy stuff for your new home. Go crazy, as it’s all free to you. You’ll also find cafeteria slash buffet schedules on the refrigerator tablet as well as daily menus. Or, of course, you can make your own meals. Well, I’m done for the day. I’m returning to my own living quarters. Need some quality time with the scratching post. Nyan!” Kitty turns and trots away. I look at Jenn. We motion to leave the room. I pat Tony on the shoulder.

“Alright, we’ll be leaving now. Remember, take good care of the room.”

“‘Kay.”

We leave and close the door behind us. “It’s been a long day, and there’s still sunshine out there.”

“Yeah. Let’s go somewhere.”

“I’d rather not. Too much traveling already.”

“Oh...game?”

“We’ll think of something.”

***

Tactical entry...

Search the house...

Go to my parent’s room...

There...an orc is standing there, over my sleeping parents...

He has a Glock...suppressed...

It’s in super slow-motion...the trigger is squeezed...every shot rings throughout the room...

Is it me? Who is it...He looks at me, almost as though he was pure evil...

“You did it!”

I wake up with a cold sweat, breathing heavy. I try and calm myself down, and clear my throat. I look over to my left and see Jenn, still sleeping soundly. Then, I notice a faint beeping. I look at my chest. In the center near my solar plexus there was a flashing yellow light. It’s bright enough for me to notice it, but dark enough to where it’s not blindingly bright and lights up the room. The beeping sounds like it’s originating internally. I guess this is going to be my first CO2 detox session. I slowly slide out of bed and put on my glasses as well as a tank top and gym shorts. I quietly exit the bedroom. I think I can describe our living arrangement.

We’ve essentially got a nice single-level condo with three bedrooms. Our bedroom, the master, is at the end of a short hallway, with the master bath connected to it. On the other side of the hallway, opposite the master bath is the general bath. Across from me is a short hallway that leads to a closet and laundry room. Branching to the right is another short hallway which leads to the foyer and main living areas, as well as access to the other two rooms. The kitchen, dining, and living room are all one room, and from there, it leads to a large covered balcony that overlooks the main part of the Sentinels compound, as well as an emergency escape system similar to a fire escape. Opposite that is the entryway. The condo itself is located within the main building of the compound, which means that I can conveniently access the briefing rooms, parking complex, cafeteria, and main infirmary without going outside to the harsh Minnesota weather.

I slip on my boots in the entryway and look around the hallway. In stark contrast to our modern condo, the main hallways have a heavy gothic victorian feel to them. There are various creatures walking around the hallways, despite the late hours. I soon realized that I’m slightly light-headed. I make my way to the infirmary. To find Shin surfing the internet at his desk, showing YouTube videos to another individual that I didn’t recognize. I knock on the glass door, getting their attention. Shin beckons me to enter.

“What’s up, Tom. Up late?”

“Can’t sleep among other things. Who’s this guy?” The individual that I didn’t recognize dons a gray lab coat like Shin’s white lab coat. Upon getting a good look of his face, I notice several noticeable scars, as well as those tape things used on cuts to help them heal quicker, I don’t know what they are. He had blond hair and looks like he hasn’t shaved in a while, but considering his condition, it’s understandable. He wears glasses, and his nose looks similar of that to Owen Wilson’s (the actor) nose. Despite his worn appearance, he still had a confident smirk on his face, and extends his hand to me.

“I’m Seth. This is the first time I’ve met you while you’re conscious.”

Me and Shin look at Seth, who had already gotten a hold of a breathing tank with a higher-than-normal oxygen content and a breathing mask. He presents me with the mask as he’s opening the valve to the tank. “Pretty straightforward. Just breathe. If you breathe deep, it’ll be done faster, but regular breathing will get you done in about thirty minutes. Try not to talk too much, it’ll lengthen the time needed to clear the system of carbon dioxide.”

I grab the mask and attach it to my face, breathing the air. It smells very metallic, but feels cool as I inhale, almost as though it’s soothing my respiratory system like a menthol cough drop. After ten minutes of silently sitting and listening to Shin and Seth shoot small talk and watch funny YouTube videos, Cybil walks in wearing casual clothing, purple mist emanating from where her headless neck. She walks past me with a wave. I wave back as she gently wraps her arms around Shin. I lean back and think about the dream I had earlier. That, combined with my tiredness causes me to doze off.

I wake back up when I feel a hand pushing me awake. Seth is standing over me with his hand on my shoulder. I straighten out and take off the mask. I was still sleepy, but felt rejuvenated. I thank Seth and Shin and leave the infirmary. I’m stopped short by Cybil, who had some car keys in hand. She pulls out her phone and types a message to me.

“I installed all the mods you requested in your WRX STi and had it repainted.” Her phone says.

“Thanks. Any problems?” She types on her phone again.

“Well, no, but what exactly do you intend to use the car for? Professional D1 Drifting?”

“I’m surprised you even know about D1, but no. I prefer a car that handles well and is balanced, instead of a car with high raw power output. After all, what’s the point of h-having a lot of power if you can’t control and u-u-utilize every bit of it?” She quickly types on her phone again.

“This is true.”

“I’m off to bed. Night, Cybil.” She waves to me in reply. I make my way back to my room, kick off my boots, get back into my jammies, and slide back into bed, taking a deep breath. I feel much better. I close my eyes and as I drift off to dreamland, I can feel Jenn snuggling up close to me.

Who knows what the next day will have in store for us...

TO BE CONTINUED

Again, Chapter 3 is still a work-in-progress. But once it's proofread and completed, MR will be among one of the first to get a taste of it. Until then, this is Takeo saying that if the Dos Equis guy can say "Stay Thirsty, my friends" to his fans, then I'll say "Stay thirsty for violence, my friends" here. Ja, mata!

WOOT! So I managed to finish Chapter 3 in fairly short order, just how I wanted to. It'll be over three posts. Anyways, I've been thinking about posting another story I'm working on that's very different than my violent Nights series. It's a street racing story, and unlike the Fast and the Furious movies, it's actually about racing and not some crazy plot about a secret theft ring. The thing is that it's written for another forum and features the active member base of said forum. Then again, it doesn't really state what the forum is, it just stars the members. Let me know what you think. Otherwise, here's Chapter 3.

Chapter 3: Definitely Not What We Had In Mind

Spoiler

The next day, me and Tony were asked to test out the just-completed new outdoor shooting range. With us was Jenn, Weyland, and Luna. It’s pretty chilly outside, but not windy and the sky’s clear. I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to test some defense guns to keep in my and Jenn’s living unit. Tony also has the same intention. Luna decided to show off her weapon of choice, whatever that will be. Looking at Weyland, I noticed that she’s completely decked out in Competition 3-Gun gear. You know the type of gear you’d see a legendary shooter like Jerry Miculek would wear, like a jersey with her gun sponsors on it, belt, holster, hat, glasses, ear muffs, the whole nine yards. She’s carrying a pair of gun cases, one in each hand. I’m curious to see what she’s actually capable of.

That aside, sitting on the table in front of me are various shotguns, all 12-gauge: Mossberg 590A1 14-inch barrel, Mossberg 590 Special Purpose 9-shot 20” barrel, Mossberg 930 SPX 8-shot 18.5” barrel, Benelli M2 14” Barrel, Benelli Nova Tactical 14” Barrel, Izhmash Saiga 12 17” barrel, and Atchisson Assault-Auto AA-12. Tony grabs the short 14” barrel 590A1 first, and promptly loads it up with five buckshot rounds with his left hand, holding the gun against his shoulder with his right (a “weak hand” or “supporting hand” reload). He takes a fighting position behind the table at a metal target downrange, and squeezes the trigger. The recoil nearly knocks him over. Unfazed, he changes his stance for more stability and quickly pumps and fires the next four shots as fast as he can, downing four metal targets in just about three seconds. He lowers the gun and looks downrange for a moment, then back at me. “What you think?” I ask.

“It kicks really hard. I could see why you would use it, but it’s not for me.” He hands the shotgun to Jenn, who feels the weight of it in her hands.

“It’s lighter than other shotguns we’ve fired.”

“Yeah, but less weight equals more felt recoil. You can try if you want.” Jenn loads the shotgun “strong-hand” style, which means hold the gun with the weak hand (her left hand), and load it with her strong hand (her right hand). She slowly but deliberately takes aim with the short-barreled pump gun and squeezes off a shot. The recoil knocks her back and she immediately un-shoulders the weapon and looks at me.

“Nope. I wouldn’t use it at all. Kicks way too hard.” She hands it off to me. I step up, shoulder it, and empty the tube...and OH. MY. GOODNESS! The no-nonsense 590A1 wanted to rip my shoulder off and eat it for breakfast. After emptying the tube I put down the gun and move my arm around and rub my shoulder.

“No nonsense also equa-equates to mean streak. Let’s see the other options before w-w-we decide.” Next up was the 9-shot 590 Special Purpose. It’s similar to the 590A1, but it has a 20” barrel instead of a 14” one and holds 4 more shots. I don’t care what anyone says, 9-shots in a pump shotgun is a lot of firepower. Tony picks it up, weak hand loads it, and empties all 9 rounds downrange. Afterward he looks at me with a smirk.

“More manageable. Little long though. I didn’t think six inches could matter so much, but moving to the next target is a little slow compared to the short 590A1.”

“I figured as much.” Tony hands it off to Jenn who immediately groans at the weight. She loads it and shoots all 9 rounds. When she’s done she places the shotgun back into its spot on the table.

“Kicks less, but it’s heavy. I’d probably only use it if I absolutely have to.”

“Isn’t that kinda the point?”

“I guess.” I pick up the 590 and fire it 8 shots. As I rack the pump for the ninth, Tony taps me on the shoulder. He points towards Luna. I turn and surprised to see a Heckler & Koch MP7A1 in her case.

“Dang, dude.” Tony says. “I was so not expecting that.”

“Whoa.” Is all I can say. The MP7A1 is a pretty famous German submachine gun, but the ammo for it, 4.6x30mm, is very obscure. I shouldn’t be surprised because Weyland has proven to me that she can do miracles in acquiring rare and hard-to-acquire firearms, even if they’re illegal to use by anyone other than military, federal law enforcement, or really law enforcement in general. The fact that Luna has an MP7A1, and the A1 model specifically, is a true testament to Weyland’s ability and connections as someone with the legendary ‘’Weyland” lineage. Luna is very impressive with the MP7. She fires in controlled bursts and knows how to manage recoil properly. Not only that, but even more important than knowing when to shoot is knowing when not to shoot. As for Weylan, I soon realize there’s even more to her than I realize.

I start hearing some especially loud gunshots opposite Luna. We three turn around to see Weyland with a fully-custom-built AR-style rifle in hand with a short barrel, and was downing targets with high-speed ease. We three share a look, shrug, and move on. Not as impressive as I thought. I fire the last shot out of the 590A1, eject the shell, and set the shotgun down. “Nothing special.” I pick up the 930SPX next. It feels a lot different than the 590A1, and it’s a semi-automatic shotgun. I imagine the sort of damage I can do with it. “I’ll go first.” I’m getting giddy.

I load the chamber and shut it, then load the tube with seven more shells. I shoulder it, take a deep breath, and fire off all eight shots in a short amount of time. I lower the gun and look back at Jenn and Tony with this stupidly large grin on my face. As I do, however, I see Kitty strolling up, with a walk of authority. As she walks up, she transforms into her humanoid form and motions towards Luna and Weyland to gather. The two of them join us, and Kitty points to her ears for us to take off our hearing protection. “Sorry to interrupt your fun-” Kitty is interrupted as Luna hugs her.

“OH HAI, KITTY!” Kitty pushes Luna back. “Aw, I don’t get to hug you in humanoid form very often!”

“Not nyow, Luna. We have a very vengeful supervillain on the loose without so much as a lead indicating where he is. Well, kinda~nyan.”

“Kitty is Kitty.” Jenn says.

“Indeed.” I reply. “Anyways, what’s got y-you all in a c-cat-like mood? You never trans-t-tr-transf...ugh, change into your human form unless it’s a c-combat situation. And what’s with the ‘Kinda’?”

“I did it so that I can get all of your attention easier ~nyan.”

“Ah, aye.” Weyland says.

“But, now for the reason I called you all together. Markus heard about a similar incident at a residence ~nyan in northern Minneapolis. He’s already out there waiting. He also sends a word of warning, as the scene is apparently gruesome ~nyan. It won’t be a combat mission, and will be Tony’s first. Are you game?”

“As game as cat chasing a piece of string.”

“Harr, harr. Funny.” Kitty replies with a sarcastic tone. “Since it’s investigative and reconnaissance it’ll just be the three of you on this one. Let’s send you on your way.”

“Just us three? I thought you said Markus is there waiting for us.” Jenn states.

“He’s only there to provide logistics. It’s up to you to actually gather the info~nyan.”

“I see.” Jenn taps her chin. I look at Jenn and Tony.

“Shall we roll then?” I ask. They nod. We begin stepping off the range when I can hear Weyland’s voice.

“Oi. Tony. I’m still working on getting the SCAR Heavy, but I managed to get the others with little trouble.” She reveals a handgun case and opens it, revealing a dark tan FN Five-Seven with two magazines and an IWB holster. I can see the sparkling in my brother’s eyes as he picks up the Five Seven and holds it in his hand.

“This. Is. Awesome.” My brother states, and I couldn’t have said it better myself. It’s the first time we were in a good mood in a while. Tony attaches his holster to his belt and readies himself. After getting situated, Weyland pulls out something else. It looked like a tactical flashlight at first, but when my brother pulls it out and whips it open, I realize that it’s a twenty-six inch retractable baton.

“Nice.” Jenn says. As for me, when I think about my brother’s agility and athleticism that he has over me, I get a slight twinge of fear thinking about what he could truly be capable of in a combat situation. I definitely felt better with him fighting with me, too. We, as in myself, Jenn and Tony, will fight as a family. We head to the parking complex to retrieve a car to meet up with Markus.

***

We pull up to an unassuming house in Jenn’s 335i. Markus’ Land Rover was parked in front. The house itself is pretty ordinary as far as city suburbs go in Minnesota. It’s two stories, and has an enclosed porch in the front. The yard was well kept, grass neatly mowed, but appeared to be ready for another cut. The yard is also fenced in with chain link, and the walk and stairs are all in good shape. However, the door and surrounding door frame and structure appeared to be breached, blown inward either with light explosives or shotgun breaching rounds. Markus was sitting on the front steps, motioning towards us. We walk up and greet him. He has an unusually somber look on his face. “Sup, Markus?”

“I must admit something.” Markus says. He still has that very light Romanian accent in his way of speaking. His D’s sometimes sound hard like T’s. “I’ve lived for a very long time, trapped in my own mental prison while my physical body did unspeakable things to people. Forced to watch those unspeakable things for centuries. Even to this day, I still cannot desensitize myself to it..” I was about to pat his shoulder when he raises a hand to stop and remind me. “Remember, we can’t touch each other, unless you want me to become a pile of ashes.”

“Right...Kinda f-forgot. How bad is it?”

“See for yourself. It’s clear of any hostiles so you won’t necessarily need to do any room clearing.” I take point and step in and almost immediately hit with this horrid smell. It’s almost like a mix of blood mixed with the smell of poop and something else that I don’t recognize. As we near the kitchen at the back of the house, I notice blood pooling on the floor. Tony does as well, and steps ahead of me, and turns the corner to look into the kitchen. Immediately I see a look of shock and disgust on his face.

“Jennifer, do NOT come over here!”

“Okay? Is it really that bad?” I walk up to meet my brother while holding my hand up to Jenn so that she’ll stay put and won’t see what I’m about to see. I round the corner and upon seeing the scene before me, my heart nearly stops.

In the kitchen, it seemed as if there wasn’t a single square inch that didn’t have blood on it. The floor was covered in blood so thick it had yet to dry. But what truly made the scene horrifying is that tied to the table is the body of a woman, and appeared to be dissected. Actually, as I soak in the horrors of the scene I noticed that the woman’s face, even though she’s obviously dead, appeared as though she was under extreme pain. Her eyes remained open, and her face appeared distorted. If she was alive during this, then dissection isn’t the right term. It appeared as though she was vivisected. Her skin around her midsection was cut open and peeled away, pinned to the table with various different kitchen knives. Her organs were exposed, the intestines unraveled and her other organs - stomach, lungs, heart, liver, kidneys, even reproductive organs - were pulled out along with her ribs, which appeared pried open like a tin can. I notice that beyond the table cut into the wall was this message:

“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT-ADAM”

The sights and smells, and even the air thick in here can almost be tasted. It’s beginning to make my head spin. My eyes shoot around the room back and forth around the room. Then, the recurring nightmare that I’ve been getting the last few nights start flashing in front of me, and now the scene of my parents dead in their room. That scene flashes over and over again in front of me. It’s like I’m living through a nightmare over and over except I’m fully awake and coherent; almost like I can’t do anything. I feel my heart racing and my breathing quicken. Everything gets blurry and spins around, and next thing I know, I’m behind the house next to the garage standing in the residential alley spewing my guts out. I don’t even remember how I got out there, but given the circumstances it doesn’t surprise me much. I can feel a hand on my shoulder. I spit out the last of my lunch and look up. I see my brother standing there. “Dude, you okay? I thought scenes like that don’t bother you this much.”

I can’t answer. I just stand there, and wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my coat. I clear my throat as my brother turns towards the house. Apparently Jenn is standing there. “Tom. Are you okay?” I hear her ask. I look up and about to turn, but then I see the face of an angry man, screaming at me.

“YOU MUST DIE!” The man screams with a knife in hand. He lunges at me and I can’t dodge in time. The knife is plunged into my chest, but is thankfully stopped by my kevlar trenchcoat. I’m pushed against the nearby garage.

“HEY!!!” My brother yells. It startles the unknown man. He turns and starts running. My brother, being much faster and agile than I am, takes off after the man. I straighten up, and inspect my jacket. The knife’s still stuck to it, but the point never made it through the jacket. I look up and see my brother catch up to the man and tackles him. They struggle for a few seconds, but the man breaks free and runs away, but not before Tony can get some information on the guy in the form of his wallet, and what looks like a book of matches. Tony jogs back to me and Jenn who’s now standing next to me as I pull the knife out from my coat. It’s a black Smith & Wesson folding knife. A decent knife, but not one well-built for stabbing. I fold it and put it in a pocket of my coat. I take a deep breath and crack my knuckles and my neck.

“What you get off that boy?” I ask. My resolve’s back, and sure as heck feel a lot better now and my resolve got stronger. Tony tosses me the wallet while he inspects the matchbook himself. I open the wallet and check the contents. Three dollars, a punch card, and his driver’s license. I look at it briefly when Jenn snatches it from my hand.

“This address looks familiar. I’ll look it up.” She pulls out her Sentinels-assigned smartphone and looks up the address. My brother shows me the matchbook.

“Is that like a bar or restaurant or something?” Looking the matchbook it has a logo that says “The Saint’s Tavern.” It figures. I hate that place, and not just because of the name. I just hate bars and taverns in general.

“It’s a bar-and-grill not far from here. Let’s go check it out. That guy m-might have information we could use.”

“WHAT?” Me and Tony look at Jenn who is glaring at her phone. “The address on this license, is here! The address is here! We’re at the house!” Okay, now this is getting problematic.

“There’s something very wrong with this whole situation. That guy doesn’t look like a guy who could vivisect someone, l-let alone a woman. There’s something else going on here. Something we aren’t aware of. Let’s go.” We walk to the front of the house where Markus was leaning against the fence, his face in his hand. “Ey. Markus. W-W-Why don’t you head back. There’s s-something we still have to do. See ya then.”

“Yeah.” Markus replies somewhat softly with a somber tone. “I’ll...uh...yeah.” He quietly steps into his Land Rover and takes off.

“He’s surprisingly b-bothered by the whole situation.” I’ve never thought that given his usual level-headedness that he’d be affected that bad. But we gotta get moving. Given that Adam isn’t afraid to stoop so low, time is not on our side.

***

Continues next post. Interestingly, the triple-asterisk I use to mark sections is more numerous this chapter, so finding places to stop and post the rest is much more convenient.

“So...what happened back there? Did I say or do something weird?” I was sitting shotgun, with Jenn sitting in the driver’s seat and Tony in the back. “Wait, Jenn, you didn’t see that scene did you?!”

“Calm down. I didn’t see it, but apparently it was really bad. You started saying ‘It’s my fault’ over and over. It looked like you went crazy. Basically, you looked like you broke down, or was about to. Then, you ran out of the house and threw up. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” Oh, I forgot to mention, we’re sitting in the 335i across the street from The Saint’s Tavern. It’s late and we’ve been sitting and watching it all day, but there’s no signs of that guy showing up again. “You know, I’m beginning to wonder if staking out here was a good idea. We haven’t seen that dude since he attacked me earlier. Part of me wants to just go in and ask around. Sitting out here isn’t working. What do y’all think?” I turn and look at Jenn, then Tony. We all share a look and there’s almost a full minute of awkward silence.

“I say go do it.” Jenn says. “We can stay out here and keep watch.”

“Yeah, dude. I’ll take him down if he shows himself again. You go and try and get some info.”

“Alright. I’ll leave my guns and badge. Jenn, can I get that guy’s ID back?”

“Here.” I look at the ID. The name reads “Troy Verne.” I compare his ID picture with what I saw of him earlier. His picture shows him clean shaven and clean cut. Appears as though he’s well-accomplished and carefree. Completely different aura than the man who tried to stab me earlier. He was a mess when he attacked me earlier with unkempt beard and hair, and the look in his eyes. Such a look of desperation in his eyes. Yet somehow, it seems very familiar. Like I’ve seen that look before.

I put my guns and badge in the glove box, along with my stocking cap. I get out of the car and unbutton my trenchcoat to look at little more rough and worn. “Alright. Text me if you see anything or anything changes.” I shut the door and walk towards the bar. I stop short of the door. I just remembered; I hate bars. I give a long sigh and open the door. This is going to suck.

I step in without so much as a glance from anyone. Ignored. Well, this is going smoother than I thought. I take a seat at the bar and signal the bartender. “What’ll ya have?”

“I don’t drink alcohol, sorry. You got any good root beer?” The bartender gives me a funny look, but then smirks.

“You’re a weird one. But that’s fine. I won’t have to worry about another troublesome drunk patron. But the way you walked in...You looking for something? Bars can be a place for information sometimes. Rumors and stuff like that.” He turns to grab a glass bottle of premium root beer and pops the cap off.

“How much is it?”

“Two-fifty.” I hand the bartender the three dollars from Troy I had gotten earlier. All is fair in love and war and all that, I guess.

“Keep the change. And you’re right. I’m looking for someone.” He places the bottle in front of me and takes the money. “I’m looking for a guy named Troy. Troy Verne. Have you heard of the guy?” Right as he hears me say the full name, he flinches ever so slightly. It’s small, but I saw it. His tone changes too.

“No...haven’t heard the name before. Friend of yours?”

“More or less.”

“Okay, well, enjoy your root beer. Holler or wave if you want something else.” He gives me this obvious fake smile. I lift the bottle up and take a swig, while tracing the bartender with my eyes. He goes and talks to some tall guy with long hair. After a short exchange, the bartender motions towards me with his head, and the tall guy with the long hair looks right at me. Looks like I’m going to have to chug this root beer.

I gulp down the last drop of the root beer and right as I put my bottle down I feel a tap on my shoulder. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Don’t call me sir.”

“You’re going to have to come with us.”

“Fine.” Something tells me this is going to suck. With the tall guy leading, and two guys behind me, they lead me through a side door, which leads out of the bar into an alleyway with two more guys waiting for me. I can guess what happens next.

I get a swift glancing punch in the face. It’s not much, but it’s enough to get me to flinch. Then I’m grabbed by the back of the neck and lower back of my jacket and I’m spun around and thrown back-first into a dumpster. The five guys then proceed to kick me on the ground. I cover my head and let my coat absorb most of the blows. It’s not all that bad except that given the fact that I’m not all that fast, strong, or all that good of a fighter, and I’m being jumped by five guys. It’s not necessarily going bad up until I take a soccer kick to an exposed area of my head, breaking my guard and turning me onto my back. The tall guy with the long hair then stomps on my chest and plants his foot there. It’s not the most pleasant feeling, but the coat absorbed most of the impact. I sold it like it was painful though. I learned from professional wrestling. The tall guy bends over slightly and glares at me.

“We don’t take kindly to liars, especially nosy liars. You know what we do to nosy liars?”

“Well...it really doesn’t matter, because you just assaulted a government agent.” All the guys laugh collectively.

“This guy. A federal agent, huh? Show me your badge.” And they all collectively laugh. I’m beginning to get very pissed off. I assign each of the guys with a number. The tall guy with long hair being Number One. Standing on either side of him are Numbers Two and Three. Behind them is Number Four, and farthest away is Number Five. “What, speechless now that we called you out?”

“The badge is right here!” That’s Tony’s voice. I look in the direction of the source of the sound. I look and can see my badge skipping along the ground. Next thing I hear is the familiar sound of a retractable baton being flipped open. Now’s my chance. Right as Tony smashes Number Five in the back of the knee, I catch Number One off guard as his attention was diverted towards my brother. I grab hold of his foot, and wrench his leg around and force him to lose his balance. As he’s on the ground, I grab hold of his leg, and climb on top of him and lock in a kneebar. Using all the leverage I can, I pull on his leg, and hear a loud pop, followed by screams of pain from Number One. Number Two and Three try to jump me, but I release my grip on One and deliver a punch at Two’s groin, doubling him over. I dodge a wild downward haymaker from Three, and grab hold of a glass beer bottle. Three tries to punch me again, but I stay low and drive my shoulder into his midsection smashing him into the nearby stone wall. I look over at Tony to see that he’s smashing his baton into Number Four’s lower abdominal section.

Before I could get a good look, Three grabs me from behind and Two tries to punch me. I lift both legs up and kick Two in the solar plexus and knock Three back against the wall. I stomp on Three’s foot, then smash the crown of my head into his face, causing him to release his grip. I then bend down and charge at number two, at the last second, bringing my head up and smashing it with full force against Two’s nose, breaking it easily. He stumbles back, but I don’t let up, and with the bottle still in hand, I smash it directly into Two’s face, shattering the bottle and getting glass into his face and eyes. I turn around to bring my attention to Three, but he was coming at me and tackles me to the ground. He brings his hand back to punch me, but makes it too obvious, and when he throws it, I cock my head to the side to dodge, causing his hand to slam into the hard and unforgiving asphalt. He yelps in pain and recoils from it.

I seize the opportunity by grabbing his leg and pushing him off me. I notice another intact beer bottle, grab it, and smash it into Three’s face. He screams and covers his face, and me, with a half-broken and very sharp glass beer bottle in my hand, I stab him in the midsection, turn my wrist and break pieces of glass into the wound. I get up to my feet, stumbling slightly, and stomp on Three’s face. I look over to my brother who had Four in a bit of a strange armbar using his baton, hyperextending the elbow. Four tries to break free, but is instead rewarded with Tony using his baton as a fulcrum and breaking his elbow, inverting it with a sickening crack. I look at Tony. “Where’s that tall jerk with the long hair whose knee I turned inside-out?” Tony points behind me. I turn to see Number One trying to limp away. “STOP!”

Number One turns to see me, then tries to up his pace, but is unable to due to his knee. I turn and sprint full speed, which isn’t all that impressive considering I’m over 200 lbs, and deliver a cut block (aka chop block) tackle straight to his bad knee. He screams as he’s flipped over and lands on the ground head and neck first. I turn around and grab him by the collar of his shirt. “Why did you pull me out of that bar to beat me up?! There’s a reason, I know it!” He replies with a spit to my face.

“Screw you!”

“That’s only between me and my wife. And for that, you get one of these.” I bring my head back, and headbutt him directly in the nose. “Answer my question or I will get Saw-Movie on your overly-tall long-haired broken-knee behind!” He scoffs. I clamp onto his nose with my index and middle finger and start twisting. He starts grunting in pain as I start pulling him upward, and I notice his ear piercing. With my other hand, I grab his piercing and start pulling in the opposite direction. He starts yelling a little louder and starts flailing his arms. He manages to slap me in the face. I start seeing red and I smash his head into the pavement. I do it three times, with images of my dead parents flashing in my head. After the third slam, I grab hold of his piercing, and rip it out of his ear, spewing blood all over the ground and his blood curdling screams as he holds his ear. “WHERE IS TROY?!”

“I DON’T KNOW! Ask the bartender. I don’t even know the guy.” I kneel there, bewildered.

“Tony, call in an ambulance. I’m going back into the bar to find some...info. Oh, and thanks for watching my back. I don’t think I would’ve done all that well by myself.”

“‘Kay. You need anything else?”

“Nah. I’ll be back.” I get to my feet and brush myself off. I crack my knuckles and am about to open the door back into the bar, but I hear Number One’s voice.

“You’re a fine federal agent.” He says with a sarcastic tone.

“Agent or not, you attacked me first.” I reply. “That’s grounds for a-assault any way you look at it. I was just defending myself by my own discretion...In a five-against-two fight, I figured that the best method for incapacitation of multiple opponents would be through limb targeting.”

“Hmph. You’re young, I’m sure. Little youngblood. I’ve seen more things that you ever will. You should respect your elders. After all, what would your parents think?” I snapped. Simple as that. Next thing I know, everything is red. My heart is pounding, and I can hear the sound of my own raspy breathing. I was standing over Number One with my left hand gripping a handful of his hair.

I lift him up, his hands clutching mine, angry and afraid look on his face. He brings his hand back to try and punch me, but I stomp on his bad knee, then by the hair I swing him around and smash his face into the nearby dumpster. I turn around and lift him up with his hair, over my shoulder. I grab as much hair as I can, turn, and pull it over my shoulder, enough to lift him off the ground. I pull harder, as I feel the hair slowly being ripped out of his head. My strength, increased because of the adrenaline, allows me to flip him over my shoulder. I rip his hair out with bits of his scalp while simultaneously slamming him head-first into the ground. Hands full of his hair, I proceed to stomp on his head, over and over and over and over and over. I give out a bit of a war cry as I mercilessly stomp his head over and over again.

All of a sudden, I’m yanked back, and I land on my butt. I see my brother looking at me. “Dude, that’s overkill! He ain’t worth it!” I sit there, breathing heavily, then I realized that there were tears on my face. I get up and wipe my face. I look back at the guy laying on the ground. He’s partially scalped from when I ripped all his hair out. His body was twitching, and his head’s partially caved in. He shouldn’t have pissed me off.

“Screw the ambulance. Leave him. H-He can bleed out for all I care. I’m going back in. Someone is going to get BEAT!!!” I yank the door open and immediately look for the bartender. I see him attending the bar, not realizing that I didn’t get beat like he hoped. I look over at some college students. I notice a flaming cocktail at their table. I grab it off the table, much to the chagrin of the students, and a fork which I keep close to my body hidden from view. I quickly make my way to the bartender. “HEY!” He looks right at me and noticing me, gives a dirty look.

“You just don’t learn, do you?”

“You’re one to talk!” I immediately splash the flaming drink onto the bartender, lighting him on fire. He puts himself out very quickly and rips off his smock in a rage. I back up near the lifting counter hatch as the bartender is coming after me.

“What, running away like a little bi-?”

“You’re all talk. You want me, come at me, but I guarantee this, you will regret it.” Now even more fuming, he haphazardly charges at me. I smash the glass the flaming cocktail was in against his face. He recoils from the glass. I grab him by his ear, and smash his head against the counter, keeping the fork hidden from view. I slide his head along the counter knocking over glasses and bottles. He tries to swing back at me, but I grab hold of his arm (right arm) and smash it against the barstool. Thrown off, I grab hold of his wrist, slam it against the bar stool again, then stab the fork through his hand into the stool. He screams and tries to grab the fork, but I yank it out and lift up the bar counter hatch. I swing the bartender around by controlling his wrist and smash my shoulder into him, causing his head to bounce off the lifted counter. I pull the hatch and slam it into his head again. He falls down to his knee. Still having a hold of his hand, I pin his hand onto the countertop with the fork and position his arm in the gap where the hatch closes. I elbow him in the head, the slam the counter hatch onto his forearm with a sickening crunch. He screams. I grab him by the throat and put my face in front of his. I ask him again through my teeth.

“I told you that you’ll regret it. Now, you’ll probably never be a bartender again, and all this just because you’re withholding information from a government agent and aid in abetting an assault, again, on a government agent. Except unfortunately, I don’t answer to the president. So, either you tell me what you know or don’t know, or I shatter your other arm. So, here’s my question: WHERE IS TROY VERNE?!” He grits his teeth. I grab his right arm and shift the broken bones. He gives a blood curdling scream, immediately getting the attention of everyone in the bar, as if I didn’t get their attention already. “WHERE IS HE?!”

“HE’S HERE! Please, STOP! It hurts! He’s here!”

“Where?!”

“I don’t know. I think he’s in the bathroom. Now, stop! It hurts!” I let go of his arm. I release my grip on his throat and tap him on the shoulder.

“Good boy. One more thing, what motivated you to sick your boys on me? Did someone pay you? Or maybe you’re racist? I don’t take kindly to racists.” The bartender just grunts and breathes heavily.

“Some mysterious guy threatened to kill us if we didn’t take care of an Asian guy he didn’t like. He showed us a picture of you. I don’t know what kind of beef or crap you’re in, but I’m sure I’m screwed now.”

“Name?”

“I have no idea.” I move towards his mangle arm. “I REALLY DON’T KNOW! I overheard that it might be something like ‘Aaron’ or something.”

“Adam?”

“Maybe! I don’t know, okay, just don’t touch my arm!” I take several steps back, but there isn’t time for a break. I give a long sigh and look around for the bathroom. I jog over to the bathroom but stop short of the door. I slowly open the door, and I can hear a sink running. I quietly enter the bathroom taking care not to make any noise. I can see a guy hunching over the sink I saw earlier washing his face. I sneak to within arms length of him. I’m going to try a more diplomatic route this time.

“Mr. Verne?” Startled, he straightens up and looks at me through his mirror. “Can we talk?”

“YOU! YOU HAVE TO DIE!” What the crap?! He takes my head and slams it into the frame of a toilet stall. Reeling, he tackles me into the stall, breaking the door off its hinges. He then grabs me by the throat with his left hand and pushes my head against the toilet tank. With his right hand, he starts punching me in the face. I struggle to overtake him. I block a punch and deliver a left hook that misses wildly. I grab his choking hand with both of mine and wrestle with his arm. I manage to wrench it away slightly giving me a tiny opening. I elbow Troy in the face, but he lifts me up and slams my head against the toilet tank. OW! Before he can land another blow, I reach back and grab the tank lid. I slam it into his head, causing him to fall back. I cough as I gasp for air from the choke he had me in. I fall to the floor with a faint beeping coming from my cybernetic lungs, with my back against the toilet.

I look up and see Troy charging at me again. I deliver a piston kick to his shin. He trips and lands on the toilet as I slide underneath the stall wall into the adjacent stall. I get up and out of the stall, but before I can say or do anything, I’m greeted by the broken stall door from earlier. I’m knocked back and smash into the sink counter. Door in hand, Troy charges at me. I’m barely able to sidestep him. He smashes the door into the counter. I grab his head and smash it into the detached door. I punch him in the kidney and knee him in the midsection. He doubles over, but charges forward and pushes me against the stall frame again. I elbow his neck, but he punches my side. I try to attempt a guillotine choke, but this dude’s strength is crazy. He lifts me up and suplexes me right onto the broken door, smashing it in half. If I didn’t have my coat, this would hurt a lot worse. I roll over and struggle to my feet as I hear Troy coughing. I’ll try again.

“I HAVE TO KILL YOU!” Uh oh. He charges at and tackles me into a stall. But this time, I’m ready. I elbow the back of his head, then grab his neck and give a couple knees to the face. He pushes me to one side and throws a punch. I dodge and give him a push of my own against the opposite stall wall. I give him an elbow uppercut, but it’s blocked as he connects with a right hook. Even though I’m knocked to one side, I hook my left arm around his head to stay upright, and connect with a left knee to his midsection. He pushes me back. I bounce off the opposite stall wall and duck under another punch and get behind him. I try to kick him in the back of the knee, but it’s a glancing blow at best as he spins around and delivers a backhand punch that misses its mark. Using the moment, he swings his arm around, and taking a page from my book, attempts to lock in, sloppily, a guillotine choke. I push against him and tackle him through the two stalls, breaking the walls, and smashing into the tile wall on the far side of the bathroom.

I punch him in the groin, causing him to double over and allowing me to grab hold of his head. I headbutt him in the nose, push it up and back against the tile wall, smashing some tiles, then bring it back down to a waiting series of knees. After the fourth or fifth knee, he spins around and smashes me into the toilet, breaking the tank and leaving me with a bruise that’s going to hurt the next morning. He unloads on a series of punches aimed at my head, but I block most of them. I kick him in the thigh to put a little space between us. I get up to my feet and jump up and pull a Pradal Serey move: I knee him in the chin while simultaneously elbowing him in the crown of his head. It dazes him.

I deliver a left elbow to the face, causing his head to smash into the tile again. Another Pradal Serey move: I deliver a right elbow across his face, but then bring my elbow back in the opposite direction, effectively hitting him twice with the same elbow. Again smashes into the wall. He swings at me, but it’s hardly a punch. I grab his arm, swing him into the wall, and put in a hammerlock, and position myself similar to a cop, with my feet inside of his, so that he can’t really try anything. I pull hard on the hammerlock.

“Who’s the girl at your house?!” I ask aggressively.

“She’s my sister! If I don’t kill you, she dies!” Suddenly, the weight of the situation hits me in a very strong revelation.

“Who...?” I say at a much calmer tone. “Was it someone named Adam?”

“Who? What’s it to you?”

“Adam is a...uh...criminal, I guess. I’m chasing him because he wants to kill as many people as possible.” Like a guy like this is going to believe that Adam is a vampire bent on ruling the world and using the globe as his own personal playground. I wouldn’t believe that either unless it was a scene from a movie, cartoon, or anime. Even then, it’s still very far-fetched. Why did I sign up to become a Sentinel again?

“So what? My sister dies if-” I have to tell him, not matter how much I really, REALLY, don’t want to..

“She’s already dead, Troy!” He pauses briefly.

“LIAR!” He struggles, but can’t break free. He continues to struggle regardless.

“I’m a government agent. I can’t lie about that, especially not after seeing the state that Adam left her in.” He continues to struggle, but then, just gives out this pained emotional yell. He loses all of his strength and stops struggling, and as I let him go, he just collapses to the floor. The bathroom is silent, with the exception of his echoing sobs as tears flow from his face like a waterfall. I sit down next to him, leaning against the wall, physically recovering from everything he put me through. After several moments of his sobbing, he slowly turns and looks at me. Seeing him like that reminds me of when I found my parents. The desperation I had, and this burning fire in my soul. Thinking about it makes everything get hazy and makes me teary-eyed. “Troy, I’m sorry. Adam isn’t afraid to stoop so low just to fulfill his revenge towards me and using people as pawns to do his dirty work. He’s planning on leaving a path of worldwide destruction in his wake, all for some stupid delusion of ruling the world and turning it into his personal playground. But, I don’t expect you to believe that. Whether you do or don’t doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.”

“...Who are you?”

“I’m a government agent, but not the kind you’re thinking of. It’s an agency called the Northstar Sentinels and we’re contracted by the federal government. My codename is Takeo. We’re kinda like the Men In Black, except with ‘mythical creatures’ instead of aliens. Adam is one of said creatures: a malicious vampire. And please, don’t mention Twilight, it’s annoying.” He stops to think for several minutes. Aside from the occasional sniffle, the bathroom is awkwardly silent.

“...Why were you at my house?”

“I got a call about someone getting murdered there. Tell me, what were you told to do, exactly?”

“Kill you, that’s it. He told me that I wasn’t allowed to enter my own house otherwise he would kill her. But, he just used me, didn’t he? He took the only family I have left. Now, killing you is pointless. I’m going to jump off a bridge into the Mississippi River.”

“Don’t say that. You ever heard the saying that a man is strongest when he has nothing to lose?”

“...Yeah.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not true.” He then gives me this really confused look through his heavy eyes.

“A man or woman is at their absolute strongest when they have something that they want to protect, to the point where they would lay that life down for whatever it is. Unfortunately, a large majority of people put that energy into materialistic things like money or pointless things like fame, and not into their friends and family. There’s is nothing greater than someone who will lay their life down for a friend.”

“But, everything’s gone. What is there left to protect? What point is there anymore?”

“How about the little boys and girls who can’t protect themselves against adult issues? And what about loving fathers and mothers, aunts and uncles, grandmas and grandpas. It’s not much different than being a soldier in the military; you fight for the lives of people who can’t. Anyways. I’m sure you have information that I need that can help with chasing the one down who mutilated your sister.”

“She was mutilated?!” Crap, maybe I shouldn’t have said that.

“Err...uh...Can you help me get the one responsible? Justice will be served proper, while at the same time keeping people safe.” Silence. I look at him. He’s deep in thought. I stand up and brush myself off. “I’ll be outside waiting if you decide to help. And one more thing.” I reach into my pocket for his Smith & Wesson folding knife. I hold it in front of him. He looks at it, then at me. “It’s yours. Better to use it as a tool to help instead of a tool to harm.” He looks down. I drop the knife onto his lap and walk towards the door. “Remember, I’ll be outside.”

I leave the bathroom and walk past the bartender. He’s since been freed from his hand being nailed to the bar counter with a fork, but was standing there holding his arm. It appears normal up until just past the elbow, where half of his forearm was just dangling freely, attached only by the skin, which appeared mangled, distorted, and bruised where I slammed the countertop on it. He glares at me as I walk past him. I’m about to exit the bar when I hear an angry voice. “HEY! You owe me another B-52! Buy me another one or I’ll make you.” I turn slowly with a death stare. The college student recoils and hesitates slightly.

“I’ve had a bad day, and you really don’t want to mess with me, just ask the bartender to make another one.” I motion towards the bartender, right arm still mangled. “Don’t throw your life away for a single drink. Just buy yourself another one.” I leave the bar and walk towards Jenn’s waiting 335i with Tony outside leaning against the car with my guns and badge in hand.

“How’d it go?” Tony asks. He hands me my guns and badge

“Dude, it sucked. I got my butt handed to me when I finally found that guy.”

“So you did find him? I admit I had my doubts.” Jenn asks. “Where is he?” I’m about to answer when I hear Troy’s voice.

“Hey! Takeo! I have some information I want to give you.” He shuffles out. I wave at him as he quickly shuffles across the street. As I’m attaching my holster, I notice something odd. A bright light source illuminates one side of Troy. I turn to look at the source and see that it’s a garbage truck, but what’s even more unusual is that this truck is moving at high speed. Then it dawns on me. I turn my attention back to Troy, who noticed the lights approaching him and turns to try and get back onto the sidewalk. But the driver of the truck has different intentions. Troy, realizing that the truck is targeting him, instead runs back towards me and screams out in desperation. Me, Jenn, and Tony all share a look and we already know what to do. Jenn starts the 335i and drives off in an attempt to route the truck. Me and Tony draw our respective handguns, my P220 and his Five-Seven and we both take aim at the truck that is quickly approaching. We only get a few shots off when we see Jenn miss the truck, and it smashes into Troy, the impact distorting his body and decapitating him, with his head being crushed under one of the wheels. Me and Tony continue shooting at the truck as it drives away and disappears around a corner at high speed. Jenn recovers and takes off after it in her 335i while me and Tony check out Troy’s remains. Tony checks the head while I check the pockets of the blood-stained clothing still worn by the mangled and twisted body.

After some searching, I find his Smith & Wesson knife (now broken and useless), some random receipts, his phone (broken but likely recoverable) which I store in my pocket, a flattened Tootsie roll, and a strange envelope with an old-fashioned wax seal on the back of it. I look at the seal and notice a strange coat-of-arms on it. Upon opening the envelope, there’s a picture of me in it, and a letter that simply says “Find and kill this man and anyone with him, and your sister won’t get hurt.” There’s no address on it at all, sending or receiving, and the paper appeared to be you run-of-the-mill printer or copier paper. I pocket the letter and stand up as Tony jogs back to me.

“That’s stupidly gruesome, man. I’d rather not see something like that again.” He says as he holsters his Five Seven.

“Ditto.” I swap the empty magazine with a fresh one before holstering my P220. “Found the letter that says I need to get killed. It’s weird seeing it though.” I hand Tony the letter and he inspects it, and like me, doesn’t notice anything extraordinary. “Looks like we’re right back at square one.”

“Not really. Jennifer did go chase after the truck, didn’t she?“

“Indeed.” We spoke too soon. Jenn pulls up.

“I lost the truck.”

“Seriously?” I look at my brother. “Okay, so now we’re really right back at square one.”

“Yeah. It like disappeared. When I went around the first corner, I couldn’t see it anywhere.” I scratch my head in frustration.

“BAH! This sucks. I think we should just head back to headquarters for now.” Me and Tony get back into the car and we take off. The ride is mostly silent as I spend the time trying to think of any other way to gain information. Nothing comes to mind.

I guess we’ll just have to wait and see...

TO BE CONTINUED

Alright, so I gotta put work in my other stories so the next chapter may take a while. So, until then, I'm going to try and figure out why they're putting alcohol in everything. I mean, alcoholic Iced Tea! WHY?!

I *cough* finally *cough* finished, a- hrm, reading it. That took me about four days to read it, er, properly, without skimming over some parts *cough* at the speed of light, ahaha...GRAPHIC.All I can say. You have a skill in these action scenes and although I don't inderstand all the terminology, it's still quite *cough* vivid. No *cough* complaints.(Was the tank lid ceramic?)

Yeah, shameless plug...sorry. Anyways, I've finally finished Chapter 4, and it's a long one (four posts). So, prepare yourselves for the kind of insanity that only I can bring. Enjoy!

Chapter 4: Let's Go Ham On 'Em!

Spoiler

Me, Tony, Jenn, and Weyland are back at the outdoor range again with my trenchcoat, handguns, and tactical Tanto resting on a bench. Tony had a 14” Benelli M2 shouldered and unleashes 6 shots downrange. We’re testing out shotguns again, picking up where we left off. Tony passes me the shotgun with a big grin on his face.

“Dude, that’s awesome.” I drop a shell in the chamber and add five shells into the tube. I take a deep breath, and blast away all six shells. Benelli is onto something with this gas-system of theirs. The recoils isn’t that much harder than a hunting shotgun with a heavy barrel.

“Shweet.” I check the chamber. Remember kids, gun safety. “This is at the t-t-top of my list for the house.” I pass the M2 off to Jenn. She does a strong-hand load, and fires the shotgun slowly but methodically downrange. Afterwards she puts the gun down and looks at me and Tony.

“Not bad. But I prefer a magazine that I can load. And it still kicks really hard, harder than I’m willing to put up with.”

Jenn loads the magazine, racks the bolt, and empties the magazine in a flurry of fully-automatic buckshot. Then I remembered why the AA-12 is so freaking awesome: it has one of the lowest amounts of felt recoil of any shotgun in the world.

“Jenn. How’s the kick?” She turns back to me with this big smile on her face. “I can get used to that.”

“I bet you could. Let me give it a try.” Weyland hands me a full 8-round box magazine. I load it and rack the bolt. I squeeze the trigger all the way back and empty the entire magazine in under two seconds, turning the target into an over glorified punch card. Or series of punch cards. Or just scraps of paper. But that aside, the recoil felt like...well, like an M16 or P90. There’s almost nothing there as far as recoil. I pass it off to Tony but he waves it off.

“Dude, I already know. I watched a lot of FPSRussia.”

“Suit yourself.” I pick up the 14” Nova Tactical, open the chamber, and drop a shell in, sliding the chamber closed. I load the other five shells in the tube. I fire three shots when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see Weyland with a box of slugs.

“Before you cycle, turn the gun over so you can see the bottom.” I turn the shotgun upside-down. On the pump is a button, characteristic of the Benelli Novas. I’ve seen it before but didn’t know what it did. I always thought that it allowed you to remove the pump handle for maintenance. “Pull the slide back slightly, and press the button and pull it the rest of the way.” I pull the slide back slightly, and press the button, pulling the chamber all the way open. The empty shell ejects itself from the chamber. I look into the chamber and notice that it doesn’t pull a fresh shell from the tube. Suddenly, I realize the usefulness of the feature. I grab a slug and drop it into the chamber, and push the slide home. I fire the slug, rack the slide like normal, and it switches back to buckshot from the tube.

“L-Load switching without having to do a full dump and load. N-N-Nice. So I can switch loads without having to empty the tube first?” Heck, even I didn’t know that. I turn to see Tony beside me with a fully loaded Saiga 12, seven round magazine loaded. He clicks the AK-style selector to Full-Auto and unleashes a long burst downrange. One of the shells ejects and hits me square in the face. Good thing shotgun shell husks are plastic and not metal, because metal casings get hot when you go through a lot of them. He drops the magazine and hands me the Saiga 12. I empty the fresh mag Weyland hands me. Yeah, it kicks harder than the AA-12, but I can only describe the Saiga 12 with one word: Amazing. I love AK-style rifles, and the Saiga 12 fits me almost perfectly...almost.

“Weyland, is there any way you can suppress the Saiga 12?” Tony asks. That’s my brother. Great taste in firearms for sure.

“Aye.” Weyland says. “I’ll have to make some calls, but I’ll get it done.” Weyland pulls out her cell phone and dials a number. As I’m packing up the shotguns into their cases, I overhear Weyland on her phone. “Oi, yeah...Will Hayden?....yeah, been a while...I want to ask a favor...No, I haven’t found a boyfriend yet...can we not talk about that?...Okay, you one of the best integral suppressed Saiga 12 design that I know of. You mind sending one of those my way, expedited super-speed pretty please?...Okay...thanks a bunch, mate.” All three of us stare at Weyland as she hangs up.

“Will Hayden...as in the Sons of Guns on Discovery Channel reality TV show Will Hayden? THAT WILL HAYDEN?” I ask.

“Aye.”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU T-T-TELL US?!”

“You never asked, mate.”

“She has a point.” Jenn states. Just then, I feel my phone vibrate. It’s Kitty. I swipe the screen to answer.

“Takeo. Are you with Jenn and Tony?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Put me on speaker ~nyan.” I switch it over and turn the phone face down. “Weyland, are you there too?”

“Aye. What ya need?”

“Equip those three appropriately when this briefing is done.”

“Aye, commander.”

“Alright, as for you, Jenn, Takeo, and Tony, I’ve got another mission for you. It’s one you three have never done before.”

“A stealth mission?” I ask.

“Exactly. Markus and Luna had picked up another one of Adam’s human hostages. No worries, he’s alright. Everything seems kinda shady though. He told us that they’re using an office building they essentially stole from a bunch of people, but that there’s a lab there ~nyan. In that lab Adam was performing experiments on humans as a means to draft an additional force into Entropy’s ranks. But, that’s not the worst of it. The hostage described something akin to a sort of ‘dirty bomb’ or some other type of WMD. ~nyan. He doesn’t know for sure, it’s just a rumor he claims that he overheard when Adam was talking with someone else. This will be the most difficult mission you’ve faced thus far. It’s not straight killing everything that moves. This time around, you’ll be gathering any information you can find as a main priority. I’ve got a bad feeling about all this ~nyan.” I share a look with Tony and Jenn, then look at Weyland.

“We’ll be needing to stay quiet on this one. And l-lightweight too. We’re going in with handguns only. Weyland, can you get my brother a suppressor for his Five-Seven? Jenn?”

“Glock 17, please.” Jenn asks.

“Done and done. You’ll be good to go in ten minutes.” Weyland replies.

“One more thing,” I hear Kitty say over my phone. “After completing your main objective, there’s one last objective to complete. Destroy the building at your discretion but only after you’ve gathered as much information as possible. I’ve contacted local PD and they’re aware that there’s going to be a flattened building by morning ~nyan. Again, use any means necessary.” I look to my brother who has a smirk on his face and looks towards Weyland.

“Weyland?” My brother asks. “I need to talk to you before the mission.”

“Any questions?” Kitty asks.

“Why send u-uh-us? What about Lunar Squad and Markus?” I ask.

“Markus is still pretty shaken from that house earlier. Lunar Squad is on another similar mission. I apologize for the timing ~nyan. But in your case, given your experience dealing with Entropy first-hand and your surprising aggression, you’re our best option. If it’s any consolation, I don’t feel good about it either. If you want, I can send Sybil with you to back you up, but she can’t infiltrate with you.” I’m flattered...or did she just insult me?

“Why is that?” I ask.

“Because...I think her missing head is there too.” That struck a nerve.

“That hostage said that he saw a head in a jar of some sort. It looked like it was sleeping and alive somehow. There’s a possibility that it’s hers. I can’t risk her personal feelings getting in the way of your mission ~nyan.”

“Does Sybil know?”

“~Nyan...no...It’s your call.”

“We’ll keep it quiet.” I share a look with Jenn and Tony. “Right?” The two nod. “Alright, we’ll confirm any and all intelligence that we can. We’ll keep in touch unless stated otherwise. And to answer your question about Sybil, I think it’s best she isn’t involved with this one.”

“Okay. Tony, get squared away. Meet by the B-Beamer when you’re ready.”

“‘Kay.” Jenn goes in one direction, and Tony and Weyland in the other. I can hear Tony talking to Weyland about explosives but I can’t make it out. I reach down and grab my P220, 327, and my tactical Tanto, holding it in my hand. I just realized how much of an idiot I am.

“I had this tanto with me when I was fighting Troy and didn’t even remember I had it. Wow...just...wow...” I attach the Tanto to my belt and throw on my trenchcoat. Although, I wonder if a trenchcoat would be a good idea for this mission...I’m going to go change into something better suited for the mission.

***

I decided to switch from my trenchcoat to a lightweight recon-style armored vest. I’ve also switched my handguns from concealed carry to open carry since discretion is limited only to silence. We’re already in Jenn’s issued BMW on the way to location. My brother has on a tactical vest with several pouches. He’s threading his suppressor on his Five-Seven. I decide to do the same with my P220. I drop the magazine and empty the chamber, catching the round in my hand, and twist the suppressor onto the tip of the barrel, turning counter-clockwise. I lock the slide back and set the gun down as I put the loose round back into the magazine. I look back to Tony who was checking his magazines at the same time. I notice something sticking out of one of his pouches. It has a familiar looking letter “C” but the rest is obscured by the pouch.

“Hey, dude?” I ask.

“Huh?” My brother replied, not looking up from his magazines.

“What you got in your pouches?” He just smiles and looks up at me.

“You remember how Kitty said that we have to destroy the building?”

“It’s C4 isn’t it?”

“What’s C4?” Jenn asks.

“It’s a form of powerful plastic explosive.” I reply. Jenn slams on hard on the brakes. My P220 goes flying from my lap and smashes into the glove box. My head almost did the same if I didn’t put my hands up to brace myself. Oh, and of course the seat belt helps. Remember, always wear your seatbelt.

“Explosive?! TONY’S BASICALLY A WALKING BOMB!”

“Chill. Relax. C4 can’t be detonated by just shock or just heat. It’s extremely stable. The only thing that that can set off C4 is a combination of both extreme shock AND extreme heat, something that only its detonator can supply. Don’t worry, we know what we’re doing.”

“Are you sure?” I hate it when she does that.

“YES! I’m sure. Now I’m going to get the radios ready. Keep following the GPS.”

“Okay.” I bend down to pick up my P220 from off the floor when Jenn hits the brakes again, causing my head to slam into the glove box. Let me tell you something. That hurt. A lot. I sit back up.

“What the heck was that for?”

“Dead end.” I look around and see that we’re at a dead end...sort of. In front of us is a brightly lit chain-link gate locked up nice and tight. I groan in frustration. “What should we do?” I scratch my chin a bit.

“Give me a sec.” I blink to activate my contact lenses, switch to thermal vision, and observe the area. “Don’t you think it’s a bit strange that it’s late at night and there’s a lot of lights on?”

“...Yeah...that building’s lights are all on.” Jenn says.

“Dude, I’m sure that not that many people work late or they’re just wasting a lot of electricity.”

“Or that’s the place w-we need to go.” I say as I can see strange shapes in my thermal vision. I switch to night vision and see a pair of life-size faeries trying their hardest to conceal their wings and stay warm. “Man, why we gotta face faeries?”

“Anyways, I think charging through the gate at high speed in a BMW directly at the building isn’t a good idea.”

“Gee, you think?” Jenn says.

“We’ll go in from a different angle of attack. Do we have any strong wire cutters?”

“In the tool kit in the trunk.” When did she get a tool kit?

“Okay Jenn. Pull out and park the car someplace hidden. We’re going to sneak in, Asian-style.” Jenn shifts into reverse and backs the car out of the dead end drive. She parks between some semi trailers and we get out. She pops the truck and I look inside. I was kinda hoping for something epic to reveal itself with bright lights and angelic music, but instead I just find an ordinary tool box. I open it and inside are neatly arranged tools. I grab the small leverage cutters we could use for cutting chain link fence and close the trunk. I go back, grab my P220 load the magazine, and ready the gun by pulling the slide back. I holster it and keep the cutters in hand. I go to Jenn and thread the suppressor on her Glock 17. Tony is adjusting his vest and doing a last-minute equipment check. “Ready?”

“Alright.” I hand Jenn and Tony each a radio and throat mic. As soon as mine is ready I perform a check. “HQ, radio check. Can you hear me out there?” After several seconds I hear a response.

“Loud and clear ~nyan.”

“Takeo out.” I look at Jenn and Tony. They test their radios.

“Can you hear me?” Jenn asks. I nod. I look at Tony.

“...Cats...” Tony says.

“Alright,” I say. “Let’s go.”

We navigate between some buildings and find ourselves on an poorly lit side of the perimeter. Perfect. I start cutting some of the chain link in the fence, trying to be as quiet as possible. After cutting the links, I make an opening large enough for us to crouch through. I go through first and draw my handgun as Jenn, and Tony goes through, Tony’s vest getting hung up slightly on the fence and makes a little noise. I can hear the faeries talking, just faintly.

“You hear something?”

“Naw, it’s just the wind rattling the fence.” Yeah, stay ignorant and please don’t bother investigating. We quickly jog up towards the building but see a source of light coming from around the corner of the building. I duck behind a jersey barrier, with Tony and Jenn directly behind me. The source of the light rounds the corner. It’s an orc in a coat, shining a flashlight around, patrolling the area. I hear Tony draw his Five Seven. I motion him to stay low. We wait for several seconds, then the light goes away. I peek over the barrier and see the orc had turned around and started walking the other way. The problem is, the orc is too close and would hear us if we tried to sneak in through a window. I turn to Tony and Jenn.

“I got this. Find a way in and radio me where it is.” I come from behind the jersey barrier and run to the corner where the orc was just standing with his flashlight. I make a little noise from running. The light shines towards the corner, but after several seconds, it turns away again. I slowly peek around the corner and see the orc looking in a different direction. I seize the opportunity and lean out, P220 in hand, and take out the orc with a well-placed shot to the head. I run up to the orc and catch the body before it hits the ground. I quietly drag the body behind a bush and check it for anything useful. A set of keys? Nice. I hide the body in the bushes as best as I can. I get on the radio. “Find a way in?” Instead of a reply I hear a hiss from behind me. I spin around, P220 ready, to see Jenn holding a door open and motioning towards me. “That was fast.” I whisper.

“Came in through a window.” I got through the door past Tony and realize that we’re in a loading dock. Already, it doesn’t look good. There are a lot of palettes with large boxes and tarps covering them. We search the area for enemies before investigating further.

“Clear.” I hear Tony say.

“Clear.” Jenn says shortly after.

“Clear. What’s on these palettes?” Me and Tony crouch down next to a pallette. I reach back and draw my Tanto as Tony pulls out a folding knife of his own. We cut the ties and lift up the tarp to see the contents. It’s a wood shipping crate. Jenn grabs the tarp and helps us pull the tarp back. Upon exposing the crate, I notice some Slavic characters, like Russian. Obviously, I have no idea what is says so I pull out my phone, take a picture, and send it to Kitty. I get on the radio.

“HQ?”

“Did you send a picture just now?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Looks like Russian. I’ll send it to Markus to see if he can recognize it.”

“Thanks. We’ll keep searching.” I turn to Tony. “Hey, dude, you think you and Jenn can work on setting the explosives?”

“...Uh...yeah, but what’re you going to do?”

“I’m going to search for anything else that m-might prove useful.” I notice Tony is staring at the Russian lettering on the crate. “Uh...something wrong?”

“Some of these letters look familiar. I don’t know where I saw them before though.”

“Dude, you probably saw it in a movie or video game or something. Russian characters are pretty common.”

“No, I got that. I’m talking about the arrangement of letters. You know, like an actual word or name or something.”

“You m-m-might be overthinking it. Anyways, can you work on the explosives or not?”

“Dude, I said yes.”

“Alright, I’ll be back. I’ll stay on the radio. Let me know if you run into any problems. I’ll do the same, okay?”

“Love you, too.” I sheath my tanto and ready my tactical flashlight with a red lens cap. Even with night vision, there are still some situations where a red-lens flashlight is a better choice, especially when it comes to reading documents, plus it conserves the energy in my contact lenses which are obviously not 100% power efficient.

I run out towards the entrance of the loading bay area. As per usual for loading areas near ground level in Minnesota, it takes me right to the parking complex attached to and underneath the building. I lucked out. I peek around the corner and can hear some voices talking. A majority of the parking complex, including near the entrance I’m peeking from, aren’t well lit. But the elevator and entrance area to the main lobby are lit and wide open with no cover and no hiding spots. Means I can’t Splinter Cell my way in very easily. I think I’ll have to James Bond it instead. No wait...err...I’ll just ninja it as best as I can.

Using the concealment of darkness and my light footedness despite my heavy 220-pound frame, I stow my flashlight, activate night vision, and holster my P220 and make my way from pillar to pillar getting closer and closer to the entrance. Once I’m within a hundred feet (33 meters) of the elevator area, I can hear a conversation. Peeking around the corner and deactivating the night vision, I can see a cyclops with a small pixie flying around it. They’re having a conversation about Minnesota’s crappy-as-usual weather. “You think we could get more indoor work?” The cyclops asks.

“Maybe. The cold wind makes it hard for me to fly around. But you know how Adam can be. He’s all anally-retentive and has his villainous monologue and junk. It makes it hard to work with the guy.” The pixie replies. But, I wonder, is Adam even here?

“Is Adam even here?” That cyclops inadvertently read my mind.

“Don’t know. Haven’t seen him all night.” Okay, so given that, I’ve come to this conclusion: Adam is likely NOT to be here...figures. But that doesn’t change the mission at hand. I hear the familiar ding of an elevator arriving. The door opens and a humanoid woman creature dressed in a white dress steps from the elevator. She had a very soft but airy voice, almost like some sort of creature that would be known for screaming. She says something inaudible to the cyclops and pixie. That thing better not be another banshee. I hate banshees. I’ve already been “marked for death” by a different banshee before Halloween. If you haven’t noticed, I’m not dead yet. The woman waves at the cyclops and pixie. From what I can see, the woman is relieving the cyclops and pixie to rotate for the next guard shift. Hmm...interesting. The cyclops and pixie enter the elevator and leave the area. The woman takes a seat and yawns, looking around aimlessly. I watch the pattern and whenever she would look away, I shift from cover to cover behind the concrete pillars. I manage to get behind the elevator shaft, which is well-lit but out of line-of-sight. I peek around the corner and see the woman’s back to me. Looking right, I can see the doorway leading to the stairs. Given that elevators are worse than doors in any combat situation, opting for the doors is a much better idea.

I sneak around the humanoid creature and eventually make my way to the door. Now it gets dangerous, because the area between the elevators and the stairwell are well lit, wide open, and within the woman’s field of vision and earshot. If I’m not careful, I’ll be spotted. I carefully sneak towards the door, making sure to move only when the woman/creature/thing is looking away. I’m moving as fast but as quietly as I possibly can. I make it to the door and as my hand is on the door handle, I can hear a shuffling behind me, and the sound of someone inhaling heavily, like a deep breath. I freeze as I listen...Well, I’m found out. I whip around with my P220 at the ready and am greeted by the woman creature floating slightly above the ground, looking she’s about to scream or wail or something. “Are you a banshee?”

“What’s it to you?” The creature replies. She inhales again and is about to look like she’s going to scream, mouth open. Before she can, I rush forward, jam my suppressed P220 right in her mouth, and push her back against a concrete pillar. Given that she didn’t physically fight back, she probably really is a banshee.

“I’ll ask again, are you a banshee?” She nods. “I-I-I’ve already been marked for d-death by another of your k-kind. Obviously, the fact that I have a .45 in your mouth is proof that one of your comrades was dead wr-wrong...mostly dead. It’s senseless for you to wail now. Now go and find Adam, and tell him that Takeo is coming to turn him into ashes.” I pull my .45 from her mouth and turn towards the stairwell door. I can hear her behind me inhale again in an attempt to wail. I whip around again, jam my .45 into her mouth, and rock the trigger, making the inside of her head come flying outside of her head, and splattering brains all over the concrete pillar. I lift up the body, which I might add is extremely light, and throw it into a dark corner.

“They never learn. I guess I’ll just deliver the message myself.” I comment. I go back to the door and slowly open it, keeping an eye for any cameras. I enter the stairwell and find nothing extraordinary. I look down towards the basement. There’s a single door and it appears to have condensation fog coming from it, like when you open a deep freezer in room temperature, or when you see your breath in a Minnesota winter. From just looking at it, I get an ominous feeling from it. So I decide to check that place last. I go up the stairs and find that the stairs stop at the lobby. Looks like I’m going to have to sneak past the lobby and hope that the keys I graciously stripped from the orc earlier can get me access to back hallways and maintenance areas. I slowly open the door to the lobby. Peeking out, I see that the lobby is brightly lit, almost as though it’s being used. Big surprise there (not really).

I sneak out and position myself in a small nook in the wall, switch hands with my P220 and peek out. There’s another humanoid guy sitting at the security desk. Unlike others I’ve seen, this one was well-dressed in nice slacks, a button-up shirt, and a vest, all dapper. I’d almost feel bad if I ruined it...almost. Thankfully, the guy is watching some movie on an iPad with headphones on, and was laughing loudly. I watch for a few more seconds and see vampire fangs. Huh, they must be more numerous than I thought. I holster my P220 and do my best to sneak around the security desk. I manage to duck underneath the line of sight for the security desk and past the security gates without the vampire noticing my presence. I sneak past and find a door marked “Maintenance”. I pull out the set of keys, and begin the hopefully-not-long-but-will-probably-end-up-being-long process of finding the right key. The keys jingle as I move them. I cringe and look over to see the vampire still engrossed in his iPad movie. I try the first key and try to turn. Nope. Second, key, nope. I don’t know why but I’m suddenly reminded of Fire Marshall Bill from In Living Color. I try the third key. Nope. Fourth, still no. As I’m trying to ready the fifth key, I fumble and accidentally drop the keys. I immediately whip my head towards the vampire with my hand on my P220. He’s still engrossed in his movie. Whatever he’s watching is either really awesome or really awful because he’s completely distracted by it.

I bend down to grab the keys when I hear a polite voice. “Hey man. You new? I’ve never seen you before.” I grab the keys pocketing them and slowly straighten up. “What’s with the weird outfit? I know we do security, but you look equipped for war. What’s your name?...Wait...” He starts sniffing the air. “Do you smell a human?” I take off my left glove outside of view from the vampire and slowly turn my head to face the vampire. He looks at me with a professional-looking smile. That’s unfortunate, it’s a shame he’s fighting for the wrong side.

After a few seconds, his smile fades and he glares at me. He looks back at the desk then to me. “You’re the human, aren’t you?” I don’t reply instead turning towards him. He immediately turns towards the desk and lunges forward in an attempt to activate an alarm, but I stop him short by grabbing his hand with my ungloved hand. I can feel the sizzling and see his hand smoking. Before he can scream, I yank the glove on my right hand off with my teeth and cover his mouth. I swing him around and pin him against the security desk. I shift my left hand from his hand to his chest directly above his heart. My hand burns through his vest, shirt, and his chest, and within seconds, I reach his heart, and within seconds after that, he turns into a pile of ash. As I put the gloves back on I inadvertently inhale some of the ash in my nose and am forced to hold back a sneeze. I search around the ash when I manage to find a keycard that reads “Security Access. Authorized Personnel Only.” Nice. Suddenly my job is much easier. I sweep the ash into a nearby garbage bin and look around the desk and find an alarm deactivation switch with a keyhole that says “Stage 1 Alarm”. What are the odds that one of my “borrowed” keys will fit? I go through the keys and on the eighth key, it turn the lock. I switch it to “Deactivate” but can’t pull out the key, so instead I remove the key from the keyring and pocket the rest. I take a deep breath and turn my attention to the security logs.

I search the logs, and find an obvious pattern. A lot of activity happens on the eighth floor, where the main IT lab is located and a good amount of check-ins at the security booth on the fourth floor. Why the IT lab, I don’t really know, but it’s not like I can argue with how Adam plans how to do things, whatever they are. But, climbing the stairs to the eighth floor is going to straight suck all kinds of supafly booty. I guess I might as well get started. I go to the stairwell and scan the key card with a beep as the door unlocks itself as I open it. I look up the stairwell and listen carefully, but hear nothing. I start up the stairs as I get on the radio. “Tony? Jenn? You there?”

“We’re here. C4 is scary to work with.”

“Yah, I know. Anyways, I’ve opened up a w-w-w-w-window for us. The alarm system is deactivated from the security desk. I don’t know how long it’ll last though. Move quick and let me and HQ know if you find anything else.”

“Okay. What about you?”

“I’m going to the main security control center on the fourth floor, then the IT lair on the eighth floor to find any information. I’m going to be worn out.”

“I bet.”

“Be careful with those explosives. I don’t want to get back into the loading area and find nothing but a pair of shoes. Or the building is levelled and the cops only find three pairs of shoes and a one dollar bill.”

“I get it.”

“Okay. Will report back later. Out.”

I make my way up the stairs to the fourth floor, slightly winded, but otherwise alright. I rub my chest over my scars and scan the keycard to open the door. I slowly open it, peeking through the crack in the door. I don’t see any movement or anything notable. I draw my P220 again and creep along the wall. If I remember correctly, the security room should be a right turn right around the corner. Ah, corners, they’re a funny thing. I approach the corner and peek out, trying to not expose myself more than I need to. Down at the end of the hallway, before turning another right corner is a door, with what I can probably assume to be a one-way mirror and card scanner right next to it. I look back where I came in and in the other direction. It only leads to a dead end. I sigh. I look back down the hallway to the security room. I gauge the distance between the corner I’m hiding behind, and the door into the security room. It’s about seventy, maybe seventy five feet (~20-23m). I observe the hallway and notice that there isn’t a darn thing I could hide behind. That leaves me with a few options. I can either A) unload a full magazine in the mirror, betting that it’s not bulletproof and hoping that whatever is in there is hit and isn’t innocent, B) rush to the door in a full sprint, break it down, and shoot everything in there trying to kill me, C) wait until someone or something comes out of there and try my best to see if there’s more than one target, D) try and draw out anyone or anything in there with some sort of diversion, or E) screw the security room, and go directly to the eighth floor (yay, more stairs) and be stuck with that much less information that I could use.